MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS 
AND  TEN. 


BY 

THOMAS    BALL,  A.M. 


SECOND    EDITION. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1892. 


Copyright,  1891. 
BY  THOMAS  BALL. 


CEnibrrBttg 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


TO 

MY    DEAR    WIFE, 

THIS    SIMPLE    STORY   OF 

MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND    TEN 

IS   MOST   LOVINGLY   DEDICATED. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    PRELUDE 1 

II.    EARLIEST  RECOLLECTIONS 4 

III.  DARK  DATS.  —  JUVENILE  VOCAL  NOTES. —  MECHANI- 

CAL GENIUS.  —  FIRST  SIGHT  OF  THE  SEA.  —  Ix 
PERIL  IN  A  LILT-POND 9 

IV.  NIGHTMARE.  —  THE   FIRM  TOUCH.  —  ASSAILED  BT 

EVIL  SPIRITS.  —  THE  VULGAR  LITTLE  BOT     .    .    15 

V.  THE  MATHEW  SCHOOL. — REBELLION. —  NED  DAVEN- 
PORT'S FIRST  APPEARANCE  IN  "ALEXANDER'S 
FEAST."  —  MEMORT  OP  FACES 19 

VI.  MT  FATHER'S  DEATH.  —  EDUCATION  INTERRUPTED. 
—  HUNGRT  TIMES.  —  CHRTSANTHEMUM  TO  THE 
RESCUE  !  —  CORNER  GROCERT.  —  THE  YOUNG 
BAILIFF.  —  TRIO  OF  SUICIDES 25 

VII.  HOME-MADE  MUSICAL  INSTRUMENTS.  —  MUSICAL  KIT- 
TEN.— MERCHANT  TAILOR.  — DAWDLING.  —  STERE- 
OSCOPIC VISION 31 

VIII.  "BoT  WANTED."  — I  MAKE  THINGS  "GO."  — FIRST 
SIGHT  OF  DR.  OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. — THE 
FIJI  MERMAID.  —  I  START  A  JOURNAL  ,  .  .  40 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

IX.  MY  FIRST  ATTEMPT  IN  ART.  —  CUTTING  EVERY- 
BODY OUT  —  WITH  SCISSORS.  —  THAT  OTHER 
MUSEUM  BOY.  —  BRICKLAYING  VERSUS  ART. 

—  WOOD-ENGRAVING.  —  MISCHIEVOUS  BOYS. — 

WlIO    SAWED    OFF   THE    FlGURE-HEAD?        ...         54 

X.    MY  FIRST  APPEARANCE  AS  BASSO. — FRANCIS  AL- 
EXANDER  THE    PAINTER.  —  MY   FIRST   STUDIO. 

—  THE    BEAUTIFUL   YOUNG   LADY   IN   GREEN, 
AND  THE  TEN-DOLLAR  BILL 68 

XL    I  TURN   HIGHWAYMAN.  —  CHANGE  AND  CHANGE 

ABOUT  OF  PROPRIETORS 75 

XII.  A  GOOD  JUDGE  OF  FACES.  —  MY  FIRST  MEDAL. — 
THE  STRONG  MACKEREL.  —  ASTONISHED  SEA- 
CAPTAIN  80 

XIII.  MY  FIRST  APPEARANCE  IN  ORATORIO.  —  ROBBING 

THE  BANK.  —  MYSTERIOUS  VISITOR.  —  GENER- 
OUS PATRON.  —  SAMUEL  D.  PARKER.  —  Miss 
WALTER.  —  THE  INSANE  DESTROYER  ....  85 

XIV.  "  HOLY    FAMILY."  —  WASHINGTON    ALLSTON.  — 

"CHRIST  IN  THE  TEMPLE."  —  PAINTING  REAL 
FLESH 99 

XV.    "KING  LEAR." — RICH  BUT  VULGAR 106 

XVI.    GEORGE  FULLER 112 

XVII.    INTERLUDE.  —  I  FALL  IN  LOVE,  AND  HAVE  A  BAD 

TIME.  —  GRAND  AND  IMPORTANT  RESULT      .     .    119 

XVIII.  MY  GUIDING  STAR.  —  A  GOOD  WAY  TO  MAKE 
CHILDREN  SIT  PATIENTLY.  —  JENNY  LIND.  — 
MY  FIRST  WORK  IN  SCULPTURE.  —  ITALIAN 
PIRATES.  —  PRUDENCE  DISREGARDED.  —  FIRST 
WEBSTER. —  SHE  WILL  GO  TO  THE  WORLD'S 
END  WITH  ME.  —  HON.  S.  A.  ELIOTT  DOUBLES 
MY  PRICE 127 


CONTENTS.  IX 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.  MUSICAL  CHAPTER.  —  "  ELIJAH  "  AND  OTHER 
ORATORIOS.  —  IMPROMPTU  SOLO  ON  "  MY  OWN 
TRUMPET."  —  COMTESSE  D'EDLA 146 

XX.    MY   MARRIAGE.  —  FALSE   ACCUSATION.  —  THE 

BIG  ORGAN 159 

XXL      I   SAIL    WITH   MY  WlFE   FOR    ITALY.  —  "WHERE 

IGNORANCE  is  BLISS."  —  I  GO  SHOPPING  AND 
GET  LOST. — MRS.  POWERS'S  RECEPTIONS  .  .  1G6 

XXII.  LIFE  MODELS.  —  AN  ERRONEOUS  IMPRESSION.  — 
FRANKLIN'S  MAXIM  REVERSED.  —  ADVICE  TO 
YOUNG  ARTISTS 175 

XXIII.  FLOODS  FROM  THE  ARNO.  —  ROBBERY.  —  CORPUS 

CHRISTI. —  CARPET  OF  FLOWERS.  —  A  PEEP 
INTO  OUR  DOMESTIC  ARRANGEMENTS.  —  NEL- 
LIE'S SECOND  LETTER 184 

XXIV.  SHIPWRECKED    BOY.  —  MODERN     SCHOOL     OF 

ART.  —  PATENT  MACHINES  OF  POWERS  AND 
HART 196 

XXV.  GOING  HOME  WITHOUT  SEEING  ROME. — THOMAS 
CRAWFORD.  —  AT  HOME  AGAIN.  —  HENRY 
WARD  BEECHER 203 

XXVI.     SHORT   HISTORY  OF   THE   EQUESTRIAN    WASH- 
INGTON       212 

XXVII.  GREAT  CONTEST  BETWEEN  MODESTY  AND  VAN- 
ITY. —  VICTORY  OF  THE  LATTER.  —  DOMESTIC 
SCENE.  —  EDWIN  FORREST 215 

XXVIII.  MODELLING  EQUESTRIAN.  —  I  TAKE  A  PUPIL. 
—  BATTERY  OF  RIFLES.  —  THE  CHENEY 
BROTHERS 223 

XXIX.     ONE  MORE  MUSICAL  CHAPTER.  —  KING'S  CHAPEL 

GENEROSITY.  —  SCENE  FROM  A  COMEDIETTA  .    237 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXX.  SECOND  DEPARTURE  FOR  ITALY.  —  THE 
YOUNG  CONFEDERATE.  —  SIMS  REEVES.  — 
ASSASSINATION  OF  ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. — 
THE  BRENNER  PASS. — KING  VICTOR  EMMAN- 
UEL. —  INCENSE  TO  MRS.  BROWNING.  — 
STORY  FOR  THE  LITTLE  ONES 246 

XXXI.    VALENTINES.  —  NONSENSE.  —  GENIUS      .    .    .    256 

XXXII.  STATUE  OF  EVE. — DREAM  OF  EVE. — I  GIVE 
THEM  BREAD,  AND  THEY  WOULD  GIVE  ME 
SMALL-POX.  —  I  BUILD. —ROME  AT  LAST. — 
FRANZ  LISZT 264 

XXXIII.  ANDREW  STATUE.  —  CHICKERING  MONUMENT. 

—  CHRISTMAS.  —  ST.  VALENTINE'S  MORNING. 

—  STATUE   OF    SAINT    JOHN.  —  DEATH  OF 
HIRAM  POWERS.  —  LINCOLN  GROUP     .    .    .    276 

XXXIV.  MY  THREE  GLIMPSES  OF  GENERAL  GRANT    .    283 

XXXV.  STATUES  OF  CHARLES  SUMNER  AND  JOSIAH 
QUINCY.  —  COLOSSAL  WEBSTER  FOR  CEN- 
TRAL PARK.  —  BURIAL  AT  SEA.  —  WASHING- 
TON MONUMENT.  —  ENTERPRISING  SPIDER. 

—  MY  DAUGHTER'S  MARRIAGE.  —  WENDELL 
PHILLIPS  DOES  ME  HONOR 290 

XXXVI.    WILLIAM  MORRIS  HUNT,  PAINTER      ....    300 

XXXVII.  GROUP  OF  CHRIST  AND  A  LITTLE  CHILD. — 
GIOVANNI  DUPRE.  —  ENTERPRISING  STU- 
DIO VISITOR.  —  STATUE  OF  DAVID.  —  IN 
THE  CRIMINAL  COURT.  —  MR.  EDWARD  F. 
SEARLES.  —  BARNUM  STATUE.  —  CHARAC- 
TERISTIC LETTERS 307 

XXXVIII.  I  GO  HOME  TO  CELEBRATE  MY  SEVENTIETH 
ANNIVERSARY.  —  THE  GREAT  COSTUME 
BALL.  —  BOSTON  MUSEUM  OF  FINE  ARTS  .  320 


CONTENTS.  xi 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXIX.    HAUNTS   OP   MY    EARLY    CHILDHOOD.  —  MY 

SEVENTIETH  ANNIVERSARY 327 

XL.    I    GO    TO    THE     ClRCUS    WITH    BARNUH.  — 

HURRAH  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY  !  .    .    .    834 

XLI.  GREAT  BARRINGTON.  —  CROSS  PURPOSES.  —  AN 
EXCITING  NIGHT.  —  WASHINGTON  MONU- 
MENT AT  LAST  !  342 

XLII.  MOSES  AND  PHARAOH  EECONCILED.  —  OFF 
AGAIN.  —  LONDON  :  NATIONAL  GALLERY.  — 
PARIS:  EIFFEL  TOWER.  —  FINALE  ...  360 

ENCORE 362 

APPENDIX  ,    366 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

ENGRAVED  BY  THOMAS  JOHNSON,  FROM  A  PHOTO- 
GRAPH  TAKEN   BY   MY   DAUGHTER,  MRS.  WlLLIAM 

COUPER,  ON  MY  71  ST  BIRTHDAY  ....     Frontispiece 

PHOTOGRAVURE   FROM  MY  FIRST   PORTRAIT  OF  MY 
MOTHER,  PAINTED  IN  1841 81 

PHOTOTYPE   FROM  A  DAGUERREOTYPE   OF   MYSELF, 
TAKEN  ABOUT  1851 219 

PHOTOTYPE     FROM     A     DAGUERREOTYPE    OF    Miss 
ELLEN  LOUISA  WILD  (MY  WIFE),  TAKEN  IN  1853     221 

PHOTOTYPE    OF    MY    COLOSSAL    MODEL    OF    WASH- 
INGTON .  362 


MY  THREESCORE  TEARS  AND  TEN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WHY  does  a  man  write  his  Autobiography  ?  The 
most  obvious  answer  to  this  question  is,  because  no 
one  else  can  write  it  for  him.  But  why  write  it  ? 
There  can  be  but  one  good  reason,  it  seems  to  me ; 
that  is,  the  conviction  that  his  early  struggles  and 
subsequent  successes  or  failures,  if  brought  before 
the  eyes  of  the  young  who  are  about  entering  on 
the  long  road,  may  give  them  courage  and  serve 
to  keep  alive  their  faith  and  hope.  But  how  con- 
ceited and  egotistic  it  seems!  We  cannot  help 
thinking  that  the  very  ones  whose  lives  and  acts 
would  be  most  useful  to  follow  are  those  who 
naturally  shrink  from  talking  about  themselves. 
Then  what  is  my  argument  ?  If  my  life  and  acts 
have  been  of  the  above  quality,  I  must  surely  be 
outgrowing  my  "  retiring  modesty."  If  they  have 
not,  I  have  no  business  to  be  writing  about  them. 

I  have  done  a  great  many  foolish  things  in  my 

life,  many  of  which  stand  out  in  bold  relief,  and  at 

1 


t  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN. 


various  times  when  I  have  thought  of  some  of  them 
1  have  blushed  unseen,  and  said  to  myself,  "  Well, 
I  am  older  now,  and  can  never  be  so  foolish 
again ; "  but  I  invariably  find  that  my  weakness 
asserts  itself  with  the  occasion,  and  afterward,  to 
my  utter  confusion,  that  it  was  fully  equal  to  it,  — 
having  led  me  to  do  something  to  make  my  past 
acts  strong  in  comparison.  But  the  act  I  am 
contemplating  now  will,  I  fear,  surpass  all  for 
weakness  ;  and  yet  the  very  fact  of  my  persisting 
would  seem  to  indicate  a  certain  kind  of  strength, 
which  may  appear  paradoxical.  Saint  Paul  says, 
"  When  I  am  weak,  then  am  I  strong,"  —  which  is 
exceedingly  comforting  to  me. 

How  did  I  come  to  be  drawn  into  this  thing? 
I  '11  tell  you.  My  dear  ones  —  my  wife,  daughter, 
and  son-in-law  —  are  responsible  for  it ;  and  if  in 
the  future  they  find  the  responsibility  too  great, 
they  must  burn  these  papers,  or  keep  them  for 
their  own  private  amusement.1 

For  many  years,  on  every  occasion  when  I  have 
happened  to  relate  any  little  incident  in  my  past 

1  It  will  be  seen  by  the  above  words  that  I  had  no  idea  when  I 
penned  them  that  this  book  would  be  published  until  after  my  death, 
if  ever.  But  now  that  it  is  finished,  the  thought  of  this,  my  one 
literary  chicken,  being  sent  out  an  orphan  into  the  cold  world,  is 
not  a  pleasant  one.  I  have  therefore  determined  that  its  advent 
shall  be  while  its  parent  is  still  living  to  sympathize  with  it,  at 
least,  if  abused. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  3 

life  that  I  thought  would  entertain  them,  they 
would  cry  out  in  chorus,  "  Oh,  papa,  you  must  write 
your  Autobiography ! "  In  vain  I  have  pleaded 
my  inability.  "  You  know  you  can  if  you  try ;  you 
write  poetry  and  other  funny  nonsense  so  easily." 
What  could  I  do  but  plead  that  there  would  not 
be  much  poetry  in  my  life,  and  that  funny  non- 
sense would  weary  them  in  book-form  ?  At  length, 
one  day  at  lunch  I  let  out  a  rather  amusing  inci- 
dent that  I  had  not  thought  of  for  years ;  when 
the  usual  chorus  struck  up,  with  the  addition  of  a 
threat  on  the  part  of  my  son-in-law :  "  I  shall  go 
down  town  after  lunch  and  buy  a  quantity  of  the 
best  pencils  and  paper  for  taking  notes,  and  you 
must  begin  to-day."  Accordingly,  at  dinner  a 
bundle  of  paper  appeared,  about  as  much  as  I 
could  lift,  all  cut  into  single  leaves  of  the  most 
convenient  shape  and  size.  What  could  I  do  after 
that  but  make  the  attempt  ?  I  began  the  next  day, 
and  wrote  thus  far  by  way  of  apology  for  having 
begun. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  third  of  June,  1819,  was  the  day  of  my 
birth ;  the  place,  Charlestown,  Mass.  My  father, 
Thomas  Ball,  of  Bedford,  Mass. ;  my  mother,  Eliza- 
beth Wyer  Hall,  of  Medford,  Mass.  The  former  I 
always  remember  as  the  kindest  of  fathers  and  the 
most  generous  of  men,  —  perhaps  too  generous  for 
his  own  good;  the  other,  the  sweetest  and  kind- 
est of  mothers  and  the  most  patient  of  women. 
Although  my  father  followed  the  humble  profes- 
sion of  a  "  house,  sign,  and  fancy  painter,"  I  think 
his  must  have  been  a  thoroughly  artistic  tempera- 
ment. I  recall  many  little  incidents,  young  as  I 
was,  that  lead  me  to  think  so,  —  his  intense  love 
for  the  beautiful ;  his  changeable  moods  :  one  hour 
happy  and  free  from  all  care,  the  next  gloomy  and 
sad,  but  never  unkind.  I  remember  one  day  when 
walking  with  him  on  Cambridge  Bridge.  He 
stopped  and  gazed  into  the  water  and  pointed  out 
to  me  the  motion  of  the  waves  as  they  rose  and 
fell,  tinged  with  the  gold  of  the  setting  sun,  and 
said  to  me  in  a  dreamy,  thoughtful  way,  "  My  boy, 
do  you  think  you  could  ever  learn  to  paint  those 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN.  5 

waves  ? "  Why  did  he  ask  me  that,  and  I  only 
about  six  years  old  ?  And  why  have  I  always  re- 
membered it  ?  I  don't  remember  his  ever  suggest- 
ing or  expressing  any  desire  that  I  should  become 
an  artist. 

To  me  as  a  boy  his  letters  on  the  signs  that  he 
painted  were  more  gracefully  drawn  than  any 
others  I  saw  about ;  I  was  always  comparing  them. 
I  have  a  vivid  recollection  of  a  group  of  sea-shells 
with  which  he  decorated  a  piece  of  furniture  for 
my  mother,  and  which  seemed  a  marvel  to  me. 
In  our  walks  he  always  stopped  at  the  shop  win- 
dows where  pictures  were  displayed,  to  point  out 
and  explain  them  to  me.  I  remember  his  taking 
me  up  to  the  State  House  to  see  Chantry's  statue 
of  Washington,  which  had  recently  been  placed 
there,  and  asking  me  what  I  thought  of  it.  I 
asked  him  if  that  was  a  real  sheet  that  was 
wrapped  round  him  ?  I  was  very  young  then,  but 
I  have  many  times  since  looked  at  it,  and  never 
wondered  why  I  asked  the  question. 

All  this  to  explain  why  I  think  he  had  a  dis- 
appointed yearning  to  go  beyond  the  limits  of 
"  sign  and  fancy  painting,"  and  that  under  more 
favorable  auspices  he  would  have  been  an  artist. 
But  with  a  wife  and  six  children  before  he  was 
much  above  thirty  years  of  age,  and  struggling 
with  poverty,  what  could  he  do? 


6  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN. 

But  about  my  infancy.  My  very  earliest  rec- 
ollections are  associated  with  the  three  primary 
colors,  —  red,  blue,  and  yellow:  the  first,  a  tall 
plume  belonging  to  the  uniform  of  the  "  Charles- 
town  Light  Infantry,"  of  which  company  my  father 
was  a  member ;  the  second,  the  cellar-door  of  the 
gun-house  on  the  "  training-field,"  near  the  spot 
where  I  was  born,  —  which  cellar-door  was  painted 
blue,  and  placed  against  the  side  of  the  house  at 
an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  and  up  which  we 
little  urchins  of  three  years  used  to  creep  for  the 
pleasure  of  sliding  down  again;  and  the  third,  a 
little  yellow  cambric  frock  which  I  wore  about  that 
time, — all  of  which  I  remember  distinctly.  "Not 
very  important  to  relate,"  you  will  say.  But  you 
must  pardon  me  one  more  reminiscence  of  those 
early  years,  because  it  relates  to  my  alphabetical 
education. 

The  first  school  I  attended  was  kept  by  a  Miss 
or  Mrs.  Moorhead.  There  are  but  two  things  con- 
nected with  this  school  that  stand  out  in  prominent 
relief.  One  is  a  large  balm-of-Gilead  tree  in  the 
back  yard,  the  bitter  buds  of  which  the  naughty 
little  ones  were  made  to  hold  in  their  mouths  as 
a  salutary  punishment.  The  other  was  the  lady's 
dainty  manner  of  eating  the  berries  the  children 
brought  her,  — one  at  a  time,  with  a  pin.  I  did  not 
understand  at  the  time  how  she  could  be  so  patient. 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  7 

My  next  recollections  carry  me  across  the  bridge 
into  Boston,  where  I  entered  the  primary  school  in 
"  Leverett  Lane,"  kept  by  two  maiden  ladies  named 
Townsend,  one  of  whom  in  particular  has  re- 
tained a  pleasant  place  in  my  memory  ever  since. 
There  I  was  taught  to  read,  and  was  prepared  for 
entering  the  grammar-school  at  the  usual  age, 
seven  years.  We  were  living  then,  and  for  several 
years  after,  in  Leverett  Court,  out  of  the  street  of 
that  name,  by  a  steep  declivity  down  which  I  used 
to  coast  and  slide,  and  often  slip  and  roll,  in 
winter. 

About  this  time  all  of  us  children  attended  Sun- 
day-school in  what  must  have  been  the  old  Latin 
High-school  building  in  School  Street,  all  the  chil- 
dren walking  in  procession  from  there  to  the  "  Old 
South  Church,"  where  we  were  seated  in  the  gal- 
lery. I  remember  so  well  the  old  extinguisher 
sounding-board  over  the  pulpit,  and,  opposite  to  it, 
the  organ  as  big  as  a  house,  it  seemed  to  me. 
How  often  I  have  watched  with  wonder  the  slats 
of  the  "  swell,"  which  opened  in  the  front  of  the 
case  while  the  organ  was  being  played, — mistaking, 
of  course,  the  effect  for  the  cause. 

Speaking  of  Sunday-schools  reminds  me  that 
some  years  after,  while  we  were  still  children,  my 
two  sisters  and  myself  were  three  of  five  only  who 
appeared  the  first  Sunday  of  the  opening  of  a  new 


8  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN. 

school  which  a  very  good  and  religious  blacksmith 
named  Cobb  considered  necessary  in  our  neigh- 
borhood. I  speak  of  this,  as  it  was  the  nucleus  of 
the  Milton  Street  Sabbath-school,  which  I  think 
numbered  its  hundreds  of  pupils  when  last  I 
attended  it. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AND  now  I  approach  the  darkest  days  of  my 
childhood,  the  sad  details  of  which,  although 
deeply  graven  upon  my  memory,  my  pen  refuses 
to  record.  More  than  sixty  years  have  passed 
since  then,  and  I  was  a  little  child  of  six  years; 
yet  at  the  remembrance  of  those  days  my  heart 
aches  with  compassion,  not  for  myself,  but  for  my 
poor  dear  parents.  The  thought  has  long  deterred 
me  from  humoring  my  darlings  when  they  have 
clamored  for  this  Autobiography.  I  have  shrunk 
from  speaking  or  writing  of  that  part  of  my  life. 
But  in  painting  this  picture,  if  I  revel  in  the  sunny 
lights,  why  should  I  shirk  the  deepest  shadows? 
Without  going  into  details  which  would  only  provo 
truth  to  be  stranger  than  fiction,  I  will  only  say 
that  in  that  never-to-be-forgotten  season  fever 
laid  us  low;  death  visited  us,  carrying  off  our 
little  brother ;  hunger  stared  us  in  the  face :  "  The 
infant  children  cry  for  bread."  I  forget  through 
what  channel  Heaven  sent  us  relief ;  but  of  this  I 
am  sure,  that  it  came  in  answer  to  the  prayers  of 
my  dear  mother.  And  to  those  prayers  I  owe  my 


10  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

escape  from  many  of  the  temptations  and  perils 
that  surrounded  my  boyhood.  My  temper  and 
disposition  at  that  time  were  perhaps  no  worse 
than  other  boys' ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  these 
were  moments  when  I  wrestled  with  the  Evil  One 
himself,  and  was  only  saved  by  the  sweet  influence 
of  that  patient  one  who  first  taught  my  infant  lips 
to  pray. 

During  my  boyhood,  up  to  the  age  of  fifteen  or 
sixteen,  I  don't  remember  ever  exhibiting  the  least 
artistic  talent,  or  showing  any  indication  of  my  fu- 
ture profession.  I  was  always  musical,  and  could 
sing  from  the  time  I  first  could  speak,  having 
inherited  that  talent  from  both  my  parents,  who,  I 
believe,  first  met  at  singing-school.  My  father  was 
endowed  with  a  lovely  tenor  voice,  which  made  him 
very  popular  socially.  My  mother  first  taught  me 
the  melodies  which  I  was  trotted  out  on  all  oc- 
casions to  perform,  usually  requiring  more  urging 
than  it  was  at  all  worth,  —  at  least  I  thought  so. 
My  mechanical  genius  was  also  thought  to  be  quite 
surprising.  I  do  not  remember  ever  having  pos- 
sessed a  new  toy  from  the  shop ;  in  fact,  I  should 
have  been  badly  off  for  playthings  if  I  had  not 
been  able  to  make  them  myself.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  money,  my  pockets  were  generally  well 
furnished  by  my  less  ingenious  playmates,  with 
whom  I  "  swapped  "  my  kites,  boats,  etc.,  for  their 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  11 

marbles,  pencils,  knives,  chalk,  twine,  buttons,  and 
other  pocket  furniture.  My  kites  would  fly,  my 
bows  and  arrows  shoot,  my  boats  would  float, — 
which  last  seems  somewhat  remarkable  when  I  re- 
member the  horror  that  seized  me  on  first  seeing 
a  vessel  in  the  sea. 

I  must  have  been  about  four  years  old  when  one 
day,  after  a  raging  storm  had  passed  over,  my  two 
sisters,  a  year  or  two  older  than  myself,  and  conse- 
quently braver,  took  it  into  their  little  heads  to 
wander  out  with  me  between  them,  holding  a  hand 
of  each,  to  a  wharf  a  short  distance  from  our  house, 
to  see  the  wonderfully  high  tide  they  had  heard 
talked  of  all  day.  It  was  just  after  sundown  when 
we  arrived  at  the  wharf;  and  the,  to  me,  fright- 
ful scene  that  met  my  gaze  is  as  vivid  to  my 
mind  now  as  it  was  then.  What  I  took  in  at 
that  one  glance  would  fully  satisfy  any  modern 
"  impressionist." 

The  tide  had  risen  almost  to  a  level  with  the 
wharf,  over  which  the  waves,  tossing  and  rolling,  — 
from  the  effect  of  the  wind,  that  had  gone  down 
with  the  setting  sun,  —  seemed  about  to  rush.  The 
lurid,  brassy  glare  of  the  twilight  sky,  staring 
through  the  rents  and  slits  in  the  palMike  clouds, 
whose  ragged  fringe  seemed  almost  to  touch  our 
heads ;  the  solitary,  black-hulled  sloop,  anchored 
beyond,  whose  tall  mast  crossing  those  ghastly  slits, 


12  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

and  slowly  swaying  from  side  to  side,  apparently 
swept  the  clouds  like  the  pendulum  of  a  mon- 
ster metronome  marking  adagio,  —  were  enough  to 
frighten  any  four-year-old.  Not  that  I  then  made 
the  above  comparisons,  for  I  believe  the  metro- 
nome did  not  at  that  time  exist.  The  only  thing 
suggested  to  me  then  was  a  horrid  nightmare 
similar  to  many  of  the  dreams  of  my  childhood, 
which  generally  took  the  form  of  the  supernatural. 
As  I  said  before,  one  look  was  enough  to  make  me 
turn  my  head  and  rush  away  from  it ;  thus  abruptly 
finishing  the  entertainment  of  my  brave  sisters. 
One  would  think  that  one  such  fright  would  have 
been  enough  to  last  me  the  rest  of  my  life.  But 
in  three  or  four  years  I  found  myself  with  the 
water  over  my  head ;  and  as  it  came  so  near  cost- 
ing me  my  life  and  the  world,  —  well,  we  won't 
say  anything  about  the  world,  —  I  may  as  well  tell 
you  how  it  happened. 

I  had  been  visiting  for  a  few  days  an  uncle  who 
lived  in  Medford,  —  about  five  miles  from  Boston, — 
to  which  place  I  had  frequently  walked  of  a  Sunday 
morning,  to  return  at  night.  One  day  during  the 
above-mentioned  visit  my  uncle,  accompanied  by 
a  friend,  took  me  with  him  to  a  pond  not  far  off, 
where  the  lilies  were  growing  in  great  profusion, 
and  at  this  time  were  in  full  "  blow."  Arriving 
at  the  pond,  they  took  a  boat  and  pushed  off,  I 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  13 

pulling  the  lilies  as  we  sailed.  But  it  was  sug- 
gested that  as  the  water  was  very  shallow  I  should 
take  off  everything  but  my  shirt,  leaving  that  to 
protect  me  from  the  mosquitoes,  and  get  into  the 
water  and  wade,  so  that  I  could  pluck  the  lilies 
with  longer  stems.  No  sooner  said  than  done ;  I 
was  in  for  a  bath  also. 

All  went  well  until,  having  waded  some  distance 
from  the  boat,  and  gathered  an  armful  of  the 
floating  beauties,  I  suddenly  stepped  into  one  of 
those  treacherous  holes  and  could  not  recover  my- 
self. Then,  with  the  proverbial  rapidity  of  thought 
of  the  drowning,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had 
heard  that  the  quickest  way  to  teach  a  boy  to 
swim  was  to  throw  him  overboard  where  he  could 
not  touch  bottom  with  his  feet.  "  Now,"  I  thought, 
"  I  shall  learn  to  swim."  But  alas !  I  had  no 
sooner  come  to  this  comforting  conclusion  than 
I  found  my  feet  were  so  entangled  in  the  skirts 
of  these  sirens  that  I  could  not  "  strike  out "  as  I 
intended  to  do,  and  that  the  water  was  getting 
above  my  chin.  Then  with  one  despairing  cry  I 
sank,  and  knew  nothing  more  until  I  found  myself 
in  the  boat  with  two  men  over  me,  congratulating 
themselves  and  me  that  I  had  not  taken  off  my 
shirt,  as  upon  hearing  my  cry  they  had  seen  me 
sink,  and  when  they  reached  the  spot  the  only 
thing  seen  floating  was  the  skirt  of  my  shirt, 


14  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

which  my  friends  grasped  before  it  disappeared, 
and  pulled  me  to  the  surface,  thus  frustrating  the 
wiles  of  these  enticing  water-nymphs. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  water  and  boats  — 
which  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  since  then  —  I 
will  only  add  that  my  early  ship-building,  for 
which  I  had  a  great  passion  a  few  years  after  this, 
afforded  me  an  immense  deal  of  practice,  which  I 
am  confident  educated  my  eye  for  my  future  pro- 
fession quite  as  much  as  if  the  time  had  been 
spent  in  drawing. 

My  method  of  working  necessarily  obliged  my 
memory  to  retain  what  my  eye  had  seen,  as  it 
easily  retained  what  passed  my  ear  in  the  way  of 
melody.  I  would  go  down  to  the  wharf  and  atten- 
tively study  the  ships,  beginning  with  the  graceful 
lines  and  proportions  of  the  hull ;  then  hurry 
home  and  work  away  on  my  little  model,  renewing 
my  impressions  day  by  day,  sometimes  two  or 
three  times  a  day,  by  journeys  to  the  wharf,  and 
so  carrying  the  comparative  size  and  position  of 
the  masts,  spars,  and  ropes,  one  or  two  at  a  time, 
home  to  my  work,  until  the  whole  was  complete 
from  stem  to  stern  and  from  keel  to  topmast. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

To  return  for  a  moment  to  the  nightmare,  —  not 
a  very  pleasant  thing  to  return  to ! 

In  my  childhood  I  was  often  assailed  in  my 
sleep  by  horrible  dreams,  which  generally  took  the 
form  of  the  supernatural.  These  I  gradually  con- 
quered and  taught  myself  to  escape  from  by  clos- 
ing and  wrestling  with  them ;  for  we  can  assert 
ourselves  with  a  little  practice  even  in  our  sleep. 
From  impressing  upon  my  mind  on  awaking  that 
it  was  only  a  dream,  I  came  to  be  able,  when  the 
horrid  thing  appeared,  to  think  "  It 's  only  a 
dream,"  and  to  grasp  it  courageously ;  and  whether 
ghost  or  devil,  it  would  immediately  vanish  or  I 
would  awake. 

The  firm  touch  is  the  only  right  one ;  as  I  have 
found  all  through  my  life,  although  in  many  things 
I  have  failed  to  realize  its  full  importance  till  too 
late.  In  Art  the  brush  or  pencil  must  meet  the 
canvas  with  an  unfaltering  touch ;  the  thumb 
should  press  the  clay  with  an  uncompromising 
gouge,  to  carry  out  what  the  eye  has  first  deter- 
mined upon,  —  no  niggling,  no  trembling!  In 


16  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

music,  as  well,  the  bow  should  attack  and  hold 
the  string  with  the  tenacity  of  a  saw ;  the  fingers 
of  the  left  hand,  and  of  both  hands  for  the  piano- 
forte, should  each  act  like  a  small  hammer.  The 
smoothing-plane  may  be  brought  in  later.  The 
purest  vocal  tone  —  not  necessarily  the  loudest  — 
will  follow  from  full  lungs  and  a  firm  grasp  of 
the  throat  muscles.  The  most  pernicious  habits  or 
temptations  in  life  may  be  met  and  conquered  by 
a  firm  determination  without  compromise,  but  with 
faith  in  the  assistance  of  a  higher  Power. 

As  one  instance  in  my  own  case,  —  the  first 
assault  made  upon  me  by  evil  spirits :  for  I  have  a 
firm  belief  in  the  influence  of  good  and  bad  spirits, 
though  not  the  slightest  in  their  visible,  audible,  or 
tangible  manifestation.  It  has  sometimes  seemed 
to  me  that  children,  boys  in  particular,  were  the 
natural  prey  of  evil  spirits  until  rescued  sooner  or 
later  by  the  good  angels  who  have  watched  over 
their  infancy.  Consequently  I  have  a  sincere  sym- 
pathy for  bad  boys,  and  think  they  should  not  be 
too  severely  dealt  with.  I  will  relate  in  as  few 
words  as  possible  how  the  first  assault  made  upon 
me  by  the  evil  spirits  was  overcome.  I  had  been 
taught  by  precept  and  example,  from  my  infancy, 
that  to  use  profane  language  was  not  only  un- 
gentlemanly,  but  very  sinful.  Consequently  my 
parents  never  heard  a  profane  word  from  my  lips. 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  17 

But,  horrible  confession!  when  about  seven  or 
eight  years  old,  the  irresistible  impulse  would  seize 
me  when  alone,  and  without  the  slightest  cause  or 
warning,  to  indulge  in  the  wildest  profanity,  not 
only  mentally  but  audibly,  I  all  the  time  thinking 
it  was  terribly  wicked.  An  hour  afterward  I 
would  lament  with  remorseful  tears,  not  only  the 
sin  itself,  but  the  deception  practised  upon  my 
dear  parents. 

One  day  I  was  crossing  the  Common  when  I  felt 
this  impulse  coining  on  me  to  swear.  In  a  moment 
the  words  from  the  New  Testament  occurred  to  me, 
"  Resist  the  devil,  and  he  will  flee  from  you ; " 
then  those  other  words,  which  I  delivered  in  my 
most  commanding  voice,  —  "  Get  thee  behind  me, 
Satan ! "  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  I  have  never 
uttered  a  profane  word  in  a  profane  way  from  that 
day  to  this ;  and  I  have  also  been  able  to  subdue 
my  rising  temper — which  was  not  always  as  serene 
as  it  is  to-day  —  in  the  same  way. 

A  little  incident  occurred  to  me  not  long  after 
the  above,  which  I  will  relate,  as  I  think  it  will 
make  you  laugh,  as  it  has  me  many  times  since, 
although  at  the  time  it  seemed  quite  serious. 

I  was  walking  along  Green  Street,  toward 
Bowdoin  Square,  when  I  heard  a  voice  from  the 
other  side  of  the  street  calling,  "  Little  boy !  "  I 
ran  across  to  a  woman  standing  in  a  doorway. 


18  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

Pointing  down  an  alley  opening  out  of  the  street 
opposite,  she  said  to  me,  "  Do  you  see  those  boys 
playing  down  there  ?  I  wish  you  would  run  down 
and  tell  that  one  in  a  green  jacket  that  I  want 
him."  "  Yes,  ma'am,"  I  said,  and  ran  down, 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder,  and  simply  said  to 
him,  "  Your  mother  wants  you  ; "  when  the  vulgar 
little  wretch  suddenly  turned  upon  me  with  the 
exclamation,  "Go  to  hell!"  I  immediately  left 
him,  and  tried  to  steal  out  of  the  alley  without 
being  seen  by  the  woman.  But  it  was  of  no  use  ; 
she  was  waiting  there  for  me,  and  called  out, 
"  What  did  he  say  ? "  Just  what  I  feared !  Think- 
ing what  a  shock  it  would  be  to  her  if  I  repeated 
her  son's  words,  I  resolved  to  spare  her  by  telling 
a  deliberate  lie;  so  I  replied  very  meekly,  "He 
said  he  would  come."  I  have  thought  since  then 
that  possibly  he  might  not  have  been  her  son, 
after  all. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  next  five  years  of  my  life  I  attended  the 
May  hew  School  —  when  I  could  not  avoid  it;  for 
I  must  confess  I  detested  it.  I  never  played  tru- 
ant, — "  hooked  Jack,"  as  we  used  to  call  it,  — 
but  I  always  wanted  to  awfully ;  seizing  upon  the 
weakest  subterfuge  to  stay  away,  —  often  "too  sick 
to  go  to  school,  but  just  sick  enough  to  go  a-fishing." 
I  was  seldom  happy  at  school.  I  never  was  flogged 
for  any  fault  of  my  own  worse  than  not  knowing 
my  lessons,  but  remember  several  whippings  I  got 
for  the  faults  of  other  boys.  I  was  in  constant 
fear  of  the  rattan  or  cowhide.  I  could  not  bear 
beating  as  some  of  the  other  boys  could ;  the 
prospect  of  it  put  every  idea  out  of  my  mind. 
There  were  two  masters  whom  I  remember  as  be- 
ing particularly  severe.  One,  the  reading-master, 
Parker,  was  only  severe ;  but  the  other,  Holt, 
master  of  the  writing-department,  it  seemed  to  me 
was  at  times  brutal.  He  was  the  only  one,  as  I 
remember,  who  wielded  the  cowhide ;  and  it  was  a 
particularly  effective  one,  too,  from  having  one  or 
two  strands  broken  in  about  the  middle  of  it, 


20  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

giving  it  a  flail-like  action  that  was  wonderfully 
telling  when  applied  to  a  boy's  jacket.  Master 
Parker  was  a  tall,  slim,  austere,  and  rather  aristo- 
cratic looking  man,  but  I  think,  on  the  whole, 
kind-hearted.  He  wore  spectacles,  by  the  help  of 
which  the  boys  used  to  imagine  he  could  see  right 
through  one  boy  to  what  another  was  doing  be- 
hind him.  However,  I  think  "  his  bark  was  worse 
than  his  bite  ; "  but  he  kept  the  boys  straight.  The 
writing-department  occupied  the  first  floor,  and 
the  reading  the  second ;  the  boys  attending  the 
former  in  the  morning,  and  the  latter  in  the 
afternoon. 

One  day  Master  Parker  was  sick,  and  sent  as  a 
substitute  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Daw,  I  think, 
whom  the  boys  at  once  saw  they  could  impose  upon. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  a  boy  was  soon  called  up  for 
punishment,  when  he  refused  to  hold  out  his  hand, 
making  some  impertinent  remark,  which  was  the 
signal  for  revolt,  beginning  by  a  shuffling  of  the 
feet  among  the  boldest,  and  gradually  spreading 
till  the  whole  school  was  in  an  uproar,  and  the 
room  fairly  shook  with  the  stamping  and  jumping. 
All  this  time,  in  their  excitement,  the  scholars  en- 
tirely forgot  the  old  man  in  the  room  below,  until 
he  suddenly  appeared  standing  in  the  doorway,  cow- 
hide in  hand,  like  a  statue  of  an  avenging  spirit. 
In  a  moment  the  hush  of  death  reigned  in  the 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  21 

room.  But  in  that  moment  his  eagle  eye  had 
singled  out  two  or  three  of  the  most  rebellious 
"  forms,"  and  like  a  flash  he  was  among  them ; 
and  that  old  cowhide  travelled  over  the  backs  of 
the  boj's  he  had  marked  like  a  steam-flail.  He 
then  quietly  retired  with  his  flail  under  his  arm. 
There  was  no  more  trouble  that  day. 

Master  Holt  was  a  powerful,  thickset  man  whose 
blows  told,  —  especially  his  last  one  in  that  school. 
It  was  a  summer  day,  and  the  windows  were  open ; 
the  old  gentleman,  walking  about  with  his  mahogany 
ruler  under  his  arm,  caught  sight  of  a  boy  leaning 
over  his  desk  pretending  to  be  writing,  but  who  was 
doing  something  else,  I  forget  what ;  when,  the  first 
he  knew,  he  received  a  most  tremendous  whack 
from  the  mahogany  ruler,  which,  not  being  elastic 
like  the  old  flail,  broke  in  the  middle  in  imitation  of 
it.  Holt  quietly  picked  up  the  part  on  the  floor,  and 
tossed  both  pieces  out  of  the  window.  I  think  that 
was  his  last  day  in  old  "  May  hew."  But  with  all  his 
severity,  he  had  many  warm  adherents  among  the 
boys,  and  probably  the  best  of  them ;  and  I  think 
they  got  up  some  sort  of  testimonial  for  him 
when  he  left. 

If  the  masters  were  severe,  the  ushers  or  moni- 
tors were,  as  I  remember  them,  kind  and  patient. 
They  were  chosen  from  the  higher  classes,  to  re- 
view the  smaller  boys  in  their  lessons  and  to  help 


22  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

them  on ;  thus  relieving  the  masters  from  much  of 
the  drudgery  of  their  profession,  and  the  small 
boys  from  fears  that  were  apt  to  drive  every  idea 
out  of  their  stupid  little  heads.  I  bear  in  my  mind 
to  this  day  most  pleasantly  two  of  these  monitors ; 
so  kind,  gentle,  and  patient  were  they  with  me. 
One  was  in  the  writing,  and  the  other  in  the  read- 
ing department.  The  former  I  think  was  named 
Floyd,  and  the  latter  I  know  was  Turner.  They 
both,  recognizing  my  timid,  retiring  nature,  treated 
me  with  all  the  loving  attention  of  elder  brothers,  — 
the  former  spending  many  hours  patiently  guiding 
my  hand  in  forming  my  capitals  and  adding  my 
sums ;  the  other  teaching  me  to  read  with  intelli- 
gence, and  to  correct  my  spelling,  which  latter 
would  have  thoroughly  disgusted  him  if  I  had  not 
shown  more  than  ordinary  talent  in  the  former. 
The  happiest  hours  of  my  school  life  were  when 
listening  to  the  older  boys  declaiming  or  speaking 
their  pieces.  What  small  boy  could  study  while 
there  was  anything  of  that  kind  going  on  ?  I  well 
remember  one  youngster,  Ned  Davenport  by  name, 
who  was  my  particular  delight  and  wonder ;  for  I 
could  not  understand  how  any  boy  could  have  the 
courage  to  stand  up  before  the  whole  school  and 
speak  out  loud.  I  can  recall  distinctly  one  year, 
when  the  candidates  for  the  Franklin  medals  were 
preparing  for  "  examination  day."  Davenport  was 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN.  23 

to  recite  Dryden's  "Alexander's  Feast ;  "  and  when 
he  came  to  the  words,  thrice  repeated,  "  None  but 
the  brave,"  the  master  stopped  him  to  correct  his 
emphasis.  His  example  was  thus :  "  None  but  the 
brave,  none  but  the  brave,  none  but  the  brave 
deserve  the  fair."  I  thought  at  the  time  that 
Davenport's  way  was  the  more  natural,  and  now  I 
know  it  was.  Poor  fellow !  he  was  sadly  disap- 
pointed, when  the  day  came,  to  find  he  had  missed 
the  Franklin  medal  because  he  had  fallen  short  in 
some  of  his  other  studies.  I  think  every  boy  in 
the  school  sympathized  with  him,  and  I  was  per- 
fectly delighted  to  hear  afterward  from  the  other 
boys  that  the  Committee  had  decided  to  award  him 
a  special  gold  medal  for  his  declamation.  I  hope 
it  was  true ;  if  so,  he  has  since  proved  the  wisdom 
of  their  judgment  by  making  himself  one  of  the 
first  and  most  honorable  tragedians  of  his  day. 

I  remember  but  one  other  of  the  medal  scholars 
of  that  year,  and  from  the  fact  of  his  being  brought 
to  the  school  in  a  carriage  to  receive  his  award, 
having  been  kept  at  home  several  days  by  a  severe 
illness  from  which  he  was  just  recovering.  I  don't 
think  I  met  him  after  that  in  forty-five  years.  But 
one  day  during  one  of  my  visits  to  America  I  was 
awaiting  the  train  in  the  Jamaica  Plain  station, 
when  my  attention  was  attracted  by  the  face  of  a 
gentleman  also  waiting  there.  I  asked  my  friend 


24  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN. 

at  whose  house  I  had  been  passing  the  night,  if 
he  knew  that  gentleman's  name.  "  That,"  said  he, 
"is  Mr.  Pratt."  I  knew  it  was,  —  the  very  boy 
who  came  in  a  carriage  to  receive  his  medal.  That 
may  seem  strange,  almost  incredible ;  but  he  wore 
no  beard  to  hide  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  and 
there  was  the  same  character  and  expression  that 
it  wore  when  he  was  a  boy. 

This  is  not  the  only  instance  of  the  kind  in  my 
experience.  One  day,  perhaps  ten  years  ago,  I 
was  called  from  my  work  to  receive  some  American 
visitors  to  my  studio  in  Florence.  They  were  a 
gentleman  and  two  ladies.  The  moment  I  entered 
the  room,  the  gentleman's  face  and  name  came  to 
me  like  a  flash,  through  an  area  of  nearly  half  a 
century.  I  called  him  by  his  familiar  name  when 
we  were  boys,  much  to  his  astonishment.  He 
had  failed  to  remember  Tom  Ball,  perhaps  on  ac- 
count of  his  beard  ;  but  "  The  Stebbens  "  stood  be- 
fore me.  All  this  goes  to  prove  that  to  make  the 
most  satisfactory  portrait,  either  in  clay  or  paint, 
the  character  and  expression  should  first  be  at- 
tended to  ;  the  exact  form  of  each  individual  feature 
is  of  minor  importance. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MY  school  days  came  to  a  close  at  my  father's 
death,  when  I  was  twelve  years  old,  and  he  but 
thirty-seven.  For  many  years  he  had  been  an 
invalid,  suffering  severely  from  lead-poisoning  con- 
tracted in  his  profession ;  disabling  him  from 
working  except  at  odd  times,  and  consequently 
throwing  the  burden  of  the  support  of  our  large 
family  upon  my  mother.  Therefore  at  his  death 
it  was  decided,  more  to  my  mother's  regret  than 
my  own,  that  I  should  leave  school  and  endeavor 
to  do  something,  if  ever  so  little,  to  help  her  to  find 
bread  for  us  children.  I  think  it  was  during  my 
father's  last  illness  that  a  little  episode  occurred, 
so  sadly  picturesque  as  to  merit  a  mention. 

My  mother,  who  was  always  passionately  fond 
of  flowers,  had  cherished  a  small  collection  of  pot- 
plants  during  the  summer ;  but  now  winter  had 
come  with  its  nipping  frosts,  and  destroyed  all  but 
one  hardy  chrysanthemum,  which  she  had  man- 
aged to  preserve  by  shutting  it  into  a  closet  during 
the  night  and  bringing  it  into  the  sun  in  the  day- 
time. On  this  day  of  which  I  speak  we  found 


26  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN. 

ourselves  without  food  of  any  kind,  and  nothing 
that  we  could  sell  to  buy  bread ;  when  I  happened 
to  remember  that  in  my  wanderings  I  had  passed 
a  shop  on  Washington  Street  where  plants  were 
exposed  for  sale.  I  proposed  to  her  to  take  her 
pet  plant  there  and  try  to  sell  it.  It  was  very 
beautiful.  I  can  see  it  now  as  I  saw  it  that  day, 
iii  full  bloom,  covered  with  large  pink  blossoms. 
My  mother  kissed  me,  and  put  the  plant  into  my 
arms,  and  I  trudged  off  across  the  city  to  the  shop 
where  I  had  seen  the  plants  exposed,  kept  by  Mr. 
Gibbens,  near  Summer  Street.  He  offered  ten 
cents  for  it,  which  I  gladly  accepted,  for  that 
would  buy  a  large  loaf  of  bread.  Ten  years  after 
this  I  had  occasion  for  two  years  to  make  a 
quarterly  call  at  his  same  shop  to  receive  from 
Deacon  Gibbens  my  salary  for  singing  in  the 
First  Church,  of  which  he  was  Treasurer.  I  often 
thought  of  the  poor  chrysanthemum. 

Well,  my  first  attempt  to  earn  my  own  living 
was  made  in  a  retail  grocery  near  us,  where 
I  received  one  dollar  a  week  for  my  valuable 
assistance. 

At  that  time — more  than  fifty-five  years  ago  — 
every  respectable  retail  grocery  was  furnished  in 
one  corner  with  a  bar  for  retail  drinks.  As  I 
think  of  this,  my  first  "  situation,"  many  incidents 
recur  to  my  memory,  —  some  sad,  some  simply 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  27 

amusing,  and  others  decidedly  ludicrous  ;  incidents 
which  related  in  a  work  of  fiction  would  appear 
very  frivolous,  but  from  the  pen  of  one  to  whom 
they  really  happened,  and  in  whom  the  reader  is 
interested,  —  and  who  reads  an  Autobiography  but 
for  his  interest  in  the  author  ?  —  are  not  so  un- 
important. I  will  relate  only  one  or  two. 

Among  the  regular  corner  customers  was  one  of 
our  foreign  consuls.  I  can't  remember  now  from 
what  country,  but  he  spoke  English  perfectly  and 
seemed  a  gentleman,  but  for  his  too  frequent  visits 
to  the  corner,  which  made  him  forgetful.  One  day 
upon  leaving,  he  absently  pocketed  the  tumbler. 
My  master  told  me  to  go  after  him,  and  tell  him  he 
had  forgotten  to  leave  the  glass.  It  was  not  an 
agreeable  thing  to  do,  but  I  followed  him  into 
Poplar  Street,  overtook  him,  and  told  him  that  Mr. 

S said  he  had  forgotten  to  leave  the  tumbler. 

He  turned  round  with  head  still  erect,  put  his 
hand  into  his  coat-pocket,  and  handed  me  the  glass, 
saying,  "  Take  it,  young  man,"  with  an  expression 
"  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger  ; "  as  if  I  had 
robbed  him  not  only  of  his  last  cent,  but  of  the  last 
fragment  of  his  dignity. 

Another  customer  had  removed  to  a  distant  part 
of  the  city,  leaving  his  corner  score  unpaid.  The 
proprietor  sent  me  one  day  to  find  him  and  dun 
him  for  the  money.  Another  agreeable  thing  to 


28  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

do !  After  hunting  some  time,  I  found  him  in  a 
little  room  at  the  "South  End."  I  knocked, 
opened  the  door  after  being  told  to  come  in,  and 
standing  in  the  doorway,  delivered  my  message, 

—  that  Mr.  S said,  if  he  did  not  pay  me  the 

money  at  once,  he  would  sue  him.  The  debtor 
was  seated  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  but  at  my 
words  he  started  to  his  feet,  and  with  arms 
stretched  rigidly  at  his  sides,  head  thrown  forward, 
hair  very  much  dishevelled,  and  eyes  glaring  like 
a  wild  beast's, "  Money ! "  he  yelled, "  sue  me ! "  and 
he  made  one  stride  toward  me,  which  was  enough 
to  send  me  down  those  three  flights  of  stairs  in  the 
time  of  one,  not  feeling  a  bit  like  a  first-rate 
bailiff. 

All  this  goes  to  show  how  prone  some  men  are 
to  make  poor  innocent  boys  say  and  do  things  that 
they  are  afraid  to  do  or  say  themselves. 

I  will  only  relate  one  more,  one  sad  reminiscence 
of  my  first  "  place,"  and  then  pass  on.  This 
grocery  was  the  evening  resort  of  the  men  in  the 
neighborhood  (as  such  places  usually  are)  to  dis- 
cuss politics  and  religion  or  irreligion,  —  for,  as  I 
remember,  there  was  more  of  the  latter  than  the 
former.  Among  those  most  constant  in  their  at- 
tendance were  two  immediate  neighbors,  who  were 
professed  infidels  and  intimate  with  the  proprietor, 
who,  while  participating  in  their  views,  was  more 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  29 

moderate  and  more  decent  in  his  expressions  ;  and 
while  they  had  no  scruples  in  airing  their  most 
violent  ideas,  he  would,  upon  some  more  than  usu- 
ally blasphemous  outburst  from  them,  say,  "  Oh, 
that 's  too  bad !  "  then  to  me,  "  Thomas,  you  had 
better  go  home  ;  I  sha'n't  want  you  any  more  to- 
night." One  of  these  men  was  a  druggist  who 
lived  near,  and  the  other  a  "  fashionable  hair- 
dresser "  next  door,  —  both  very  handsome  and 
apparently  prosperous  men ;  the  former  with  a 
lovely  wife,  and  the  other  a  bachelor.  And  here 
were  three  intimate  friends,  living  prosperously 
within  a  stone's-throw  of  one  another.  But  behold 
the  end  of  these  men!  One  day  about  noon  the 
report  of  a  pistol  was  heard  in  the  shop  of  the 
druggist.  Upon  entering  from  the  street,  he  was 
found  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  shot  through 
the  heart,  with  the  pistol  in  his  hand.  Not  long 
after,  the  handsome  barber  was  discovered  one 
morning  seated  in  his  "  saloon "  dead,  with  his 
throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  and  still  holding  in  his 
hand  the  keen  instrument  of  his  profession  and  of 
his  death.  Not  many  months  after  this  the  grocer, 
having  failed  in  his  business,  moved  out  of  the 
neighborhood.  It  might  have  been  a  year  subse- 
quently, more  or  less,  when  it  was  reported  that 
the  last  of  this  trio  had  been  found  hanging  by  the 
neck,  dead  in  his  garret  where  he  had  lived.  Far 


30  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

be  it  from  me  to  judge  these  men,  nor  do  I  mean 
to  say  that  the  peculiar  and  violent  manner  of 
their  deaths  was  an  immediate  judgment  of  God 
for  their  unbelief ;  but  I  do  believe  that  their  in- 
fidelity prepared  the  way  to  their  death,  and  that 
thousands  upon  thousands  have  been  deterred  from 
committing  suicide  by  their  firm  belief  in  a  future 
life,  and  the  fear  of  hurrying  into  the  presence  of 
an  offended  God.  Exclaiming,  perhaps,  with  Ham- 
let, "Oh  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fixed  his 
canon  'gainst  self-slaughter ! "  I  also  believe  that 
no  Christian  in  his  right  mind  ever  committed  self- 
murder  ;  for  the  idea  of  a  man  fearing  to  face  his 
fellow-men  or  to  meet  the  disappointments  and 
vicissitudes  of  this  life,  yet  possessing  the  courage 
to  rush  into  the  presence  of  the  God  in  whom  he 
believes,  is  too  great  a  paradox  to  be  entertained 
for  a  moment.  Therefore  we  must  conclude  that 
a  Christian,  to  commit  this  rash  act,  must  first  be 
driven  to  insanity,  and  thereby  rendered  irrespon- 
sible for  the  deed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

BEFORE  leaving  my  childhood  behind  me,  let  me 
say  that  long  before  this  I  had  given  up  ship- 
building, and  had  turned  my  attention  to  the 
manufacture  of  musical  instruments. 

As  Music  has  been  my  best  and  most  constant 
friend,  since  my  childhood,  assisting  me  to  gain 
the  means  to  pursue  the  profession  I  had  chosen, — 
when,  notwithstanding  my  up-hill  struggles  in  the 
pursuit,  Art  herself  persistently  declined  to  lend 
me  a  helping  hand,  —  and  since  then  has  been  my 
close  companion,  the  sweetest  solace  in  my  hours 
of  leisure,  and  the  source  of  the  purest  happiness 
in  my  family  circle,  I  shall  have  considerable  to 
say  about  her,  first  and  last,  in  grateful  remem- 
brance of  what  she  has  been  to  me. 

Now,  I  protest  against  any  one's  remarking  that 
I  should  be  a  better  sculptor  if  I  had  let  Music 
alone,  or  had  deserted  her  as  soon  as  I  could  do 
without  her  assistance ;  for  I  don't  believe  it. 
Would  Gustave  Dore*  have  been  a  better  artist  if 
he  had  spurned  his  violin,  or  Michael  Angelo  a 
better  sculptor  had  he  let  alone  paint  and  poetry  ? 


32  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

Not  that  I  presume  to  compare  myself  with  either 
of  those  great  artists;  but  as  Nature,  absent- 
minded,  split  my  talent  into  kindling-wood,  if  I 
ever  expect  to  set  the  river  on  fire  it  behooves  me 
to  make  the  most  of  every  stick.  And  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  should  have  done  even  as  well  as  I  have  in 
Art  if,  possessing  the  talent,  I  had  never  touched  a 
musical  instrument  or  breathed  a  vocal  strain. 

But  to  return  to  the  manufacture  of  musical  in- 
struments. Before  I  was  a  dozen  years  old,  I  had 
become  quite  expert  at  making  flutes  of  "  cane- 
pole,"  or  bamboo,  to  say  nothing  of  my  pumpkin- 
vine  clarionets.  Let  me  here  observe  that  people 
who  are  not  musical  have  no  idea  of  the  impro- 
visional  or  temporary  musical  capabilities  of  these 
humble  materials.  The  voice  of  the  pumpkin-vine 
I  must  admit  is  somewhat  harsh,  but  not  much 
more  so  than  the  bagpipe;  and  in  the  hands  of 
one  who  possesses  a  correct  ear  and  some  practical 
experience  it  can  be  converted  into  an  instrument 
not  to  be  despised.  Were  I  to  be  cast  away  on 
a  desert  island  that  grew  pumpkins,  I  am  con- 
fident that  I  could  while  away  many  a  lonely  hour 
in  breathing  through  their  leaf-stems  the  simple 
melodies  of  other  days ;  and  a  humble  joint  of 
bamboo  would  be  a  godsend  such  as  Robinson 
Crusoe  never  dreamed  of.  Much  practice  enabled 
me  to  make  the  finger-holes  or  stops,  in  either  of 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  33 

the  above-mentioned  humble  materials,  of  the  req- 
uisite size  and  relative  distance  apart  to  form  a 
perfect  scale,  and  to  play  thereon  the  melodies  I 
knew  by  heart.  But  my  crowning  triumph  was  a 
stringed  instrument,  which  for  that  reason  I  called 
a  harp,  and  did  not  know  till  ten  years  afterward 
(when  I  first  saw  one)  that  the  thing  I  had  uncon- 
sciously made  was  a  zither.  Whatever  it  was,  it 
was  a  marvel  to  my  mother  when  she  heard  me 
pick  out  the  familiar  tunes  upon  it.  "  Oh,  my  dear 
boy,"  she  exclaimed,  "  how  I  wish  I  had  money 
enough  to  buy  you  some  kind  of  musical  instru- 
ment ! "  Why  should  I  pine  for  a  boughten  instru- 
ment when  I  could  make  it  myself,  and  enjoy  the 
making  as  much  as  the  use  of  it  afterward? 

This  harp  or  zither,  let  me  tell  you,  on  one 
occasion  gave  my  dear  mother  an  awful  momen- 
tary fright.  It  happened  thus:  An  opportunity 
occurred  for  me  to  spend  a  week  away  from  home, 
at  a  greater  distance  than  had  ever  separated  my 
mother  and  myself.  Preparatory  to  leaving,  I 
deposited  the  harp  on  the  floor  under  my  bed,  as 
the  safest  place,  in  view  of  our  limited  quarters. 
The  next  night  after  I  left,  my  mother,  as  she  was 
about  retiring  to  bed,  suddenly  heard  the  harp 
burst  forth  into  wild  harmony.  Can  you  wonder 
that  she,  although  not  naturally  superstitious, 
should  have  looked  upon  it  as  a  supernatural  in- 

3 


34  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

timation  that  some  terrible  disaster  had  happened 
to  me  ?  Fortunately  it  was  but  for  a  moment, 
when  the  mystery  was  solved  by  our  pet  kitten 
appearing  from  under  the  bed,  having  finished  her 
rehearsal  for  the  next  night's  serenade. 

I  will  now  proceed  to  the  second  step  taken  to 
earn  my  living.  I  heard  of  a  vacancy  in  the  es- 
tablishment of  a  "  merchant  tailor "  on  State 
Street,  where  I  obtained  the  situation  of  errand- 
boy,  at  an  advance  of  half  a  dollar  a  week  on  my 
previous  wages. 

During  the  year  that  I  remained  at  this  place 
nothing  happened  to  me,  I  think,  worth  recording. 
But  uneventful  as  that  year  was,  it  was  vividly 
recalled  to  me  a  few  months  ago,  when  the  young 
Concord  sculptor,  D.  C.  French,  a  former  pupil  of 
mine,  wrote  me  from  Paris,  where  he  was  model- 
ling his  statue  of  General  Cass,  to  know  if  I  could 
tell  him  anything  about  the  style  of  pantaloons 
worn  fifty  years  ago.  As  it  happened,  I  was  able 
to  give  him  the  information  he  required,  and  also 
the  date  when  a  radical  and  startling  change  was 
made  in  the  upper  part  of  those  twin  garments. 
The  fashion-plates  came  over  the  very  year  that  I 
was  errand-boy  to  the  merchant  tailor,  fifty  years 
ago.  I  remembered  it  all  these  years  from  an 
incident  that  happened  in  our  shop,  and  which  I 
related  to  French,  to  his  great  amusement.  If 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  35 

you  wish  to  know  what  it  was,  you  must  ask 
him. 

I  had  been  in  this  place  about  a  year,  when  one 
day  the  foreman  —  who,  by  the  way,  I  always  liked, 
and  who,  I  think,  liked  me  personally  —  informed 
me  that  I  had  better  be  looking  for  another  place, 
as  they  would  not  require  my  services  any  longer. 
He  gave  no  reason,  and  being  a  very  kind-hearted 
man,  was  no  doubt  glad  I  did  not  ask  for  any. 
My  conscience  told  me  it  was  for  that  for  which  I 
had  been  repeatedly  reprimanded,  —  dilatory  daw- 
dling when  sent  upon  urgent  errands. 

I  was  conscious  of  a  sad  habit  I  had  of  stopping 
to  look  into  the  shop  windows.  But  the  time  was 
not  consumed  in  looking  at  what  the  windows  con- 
tained, but  in  gazing  absently  through  the  windows, 
through  the  shop  and  everything  that  intervened, 
straight  to  the  horizon,  seeing  nothing,  dreaming 
about  nothing  in  particular,  but  wasting  a  deal  of 
time.  Often  my  friends  would  recall  the  focus  of 
my  eyes  from  the  far  distance  to  the  vicinity  of  my 
nose  by  asking  me  what  I  was  thinking  about. 
How  did  they  know  I  was  thinking  about  any- 
thing, or  nothing  ?  By  the  same  token  by  which 
you  know  your  friend  is  dreaming  when  you  ex- 
claim, "  A  penny  for  your  thoughts  ! "  You  notice 
that  his  eyes  turn  out  more  than  is  natural,  unless 
he  is  actually  looking  at  some  very  distant  object 


36  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

These  remarks  might  justly  be  considered  trivial, 
if  they  did  not  lead  to  a  description  of  a  peculiar 
and  interesting  faculty  I  have  which  is  possessed 
by  very  few  persons  to  their  knowledge,  and  which 
may  be  called  stereoscopic  power  of  vision. 

All  children  are  able  from  their  infancy  to  turn 
their  eyes  in  towards  their  noses,  or  look  "  squint- 
eyed"  (and  they  do  it  too),  but  they  cannot  turn 
them  out  while  looking  at  a  near  object.  I  did  it 
once  unconsciously,  when  a  child,  with  the  most 
fascinating  effect.  I  was  standing  in  church,  look- 
ing intently  at  a  carpet  under  my  feet,  being 
pleased  with  its  small,  regular  figure,  when  of  a 
sudden  the  floor  seemed  to  drop  to  a  distance  of 
a  yard  or  more,  leaving  me  suspended  in  the  air. 
Of  course  so  startling  an  effect  brought  the  focus 
of  my  eyes  immediately  back  to  the  surface  of  the 
carpet,  when  the  vision  vanished,  not  to  be  recalled 
again  till  I  was  thirty-five  years  old.  In  the  mean 
time  the  stereoscope  had  been  invented.  Now,  the 
lenses  of  a  stereoscope  help  the  eyes  to  assume  the 
position  above  described,  enabling  them  to  see  two 
pictures  in  one,  with  that  marvellous  effect  with 
which  we  are  all  familiar. 

When  I  first  visited  London  on  my  way  to  Italy, 
I  was  strolling  through  Oxford  Street,  enjoying  the 
shop  windows,  when  I  came  to  one  of  an  optician, 
to  which  I  was  immediately  attracted  by  the  rows 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  37 

upon  rows  of  stereoscopic  photographs  displayed 
therein.  I  began  to  look  over  them,  interested  in 
them  only,  of  course,  as  single  pictures,  when,  per- 
haps from  their  monotony,  I  began  to  dream  as  I 
was  wont  to  do  when  an  errand-boy  and  my  time 
was  not  my  own.  My  eyes  looked  through  the  pic- 
tures away  beyond,  when  all  at  once  that  delight- 
ful, unique  vision  of  my  childhood  appeared  again. 
The  pictures  started  out  into  stereoscopic  relief. 
This  time  I  had  presence  of  mind  enough  to  hold 
my  eyes  in  that  position  (the  pictures  themselves 
assisting  me)  till  they  had  roamed  over  every  one 
in  the  window,  to  my  intense  delight.  Then  I 
quietly  called  back  my  eyes  to  the  surface  of 
things,  —  as  they  were  frightened  back  on  that  first 
occasion  in  my  childhood,  —  when  the  charming 
vision  again  vanished.  I  tried  in  vain  to  recall  it 
that  day ;  but  knowing  now  what  was  the  cause  of 
it,  by  exercising  these  particular  muscles,  I  was 
soon  able  to  move  my  eyes  out  as  well  as  in,  with- 
out any  effort. 

From  that  time,  you  may  be  assured,  the  windows 
where  stereoscopic  pictures  were  displayed  were 
most  attractive  to  me. 

Admitting  that  the  effect  produced  by  the  stereo- 
scope is  bewitching  to  all  who  enjoy  the  sight  of 
both  eyes,  if  I  can  by  a  few  words  enable  others 
to  produce  that  effect,  as  I  do,  without  the  aid  of 


38  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

the  instrument,  I  shall  be  helping  them  to  a 
new  delight,  and  may  be  pardoned  for  this  long 
digression. 

I  don't  know  but  there  are  many  who  possess 
this  faculty,  but  I  never  have  met  but  one ;  and  he 
was  a  photographer,  and  could  not  explain  it 
scientifically  any  more  than  I  can.  I  only  know 
that  if  you  hold  up  the  forefinger  of  the  right 
hand  in  a  perpendicular  position  before  your  eyes, 
at  arm's  length,  look  at  it  with  both  eyes,  and  then 
look  immediately  beyond  it  at  the  opposite  wall, 
eight  or  ten  feet  distant,  you  will  distinctly  see 
two  fingers  about  two  inches  apart,  —  the  one  to 
the  right  belonging  to  the  left  eye,  and  the  left 
one  to  the  right,  as  you  may  quickly  see  by  closing 
one  eye  after  the  other.  Now  hold  up  both  fore- 
fingers side  by  side,  about  half  an  inch  apart,  and, 
as  you  did  before,  look  across  them  at  the  wall 
opposite,  and  you  will  see  four  fingers  in  a  row,  — 
two  for  each  eye ;  then,  still  keeping  your  eyes  on 
the  wall,  move  your  two  fingers  farther  apart,  until 
the  two  inside  ones  overlap,  when  you  will  see  but 
three.  Now  try  to  look  at  each  of  the  three,  one 
after  the  other,  without  disturbing  their  relative 
positions.  When  you  can  see  the  middle  one, 
which  is  double,  distinctly  and  clearly  as  one  fin- 
ger, with  another  one  on  each  side  of  it,  you  have 
conquered  the  difficulty  and  can  now  try  a  stereo- 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  39 

scopic  card,  holding  it  at  arm's  length  and  first 
looking  over  it  at  the  wall,  when  I  think  you  will 
be  delighted  to  see  three  pictures  instead  of  two 
on  the  card,  the  middle  one  standing  out  in  bold 
relief. 

I  am  aware  that  many  will  say  the  eyes  are  too 
precious  to  be  played  with.  If  you  are  afraid  of  it, 
do  not  try  it.  I  do  not  consider  it  playing  with 
them,  but  simply  strengthening  and  gaining  a 
greater  command  over  the  muscles  that  move  them, 
by  exercising  them  as  you  do  the  hand  or  any 
other  member. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Now  we  will  return  to  the  tailor's  shop  for  a 
moment,  to  leave  it  forever. 

A  few  days  after  receiving  my  warning,  I  was 
strolling  down  Court  Street  on  my  way  home, 
when  my  eye  was  attracted  by  a  paper  fastened  to 
the  doorpost  of  the  old  New  England  Museum ;  on 
it  was  written,  in  conspicuous  characters :  "  Boy 
wanted ;  upstairs."  I  could  hardly  helieve  my 
eyes.  My  first  impulse  was  to  rush  upstairs,  to  be 
the  first  to  offer  my  services,  as  I  was  quite  sure 
the  notice  was  not  there  when  I  passed  at  noon. 
But  my  second  thought,  which  I  obeyed,  was  to  fly 
home  as  fast  as  my  feet  would  carry  me,  to  ask  my 
mother's  permission  to  apply  for  the  place.  For 
once  I  did  not  dawdle.  Visions  of  endless  amuse- 
ment and  free  passes  for  my  mother  and  sisters 
floated  through  my  brain.  I  had  no  idea  what 
they  could  want  me  for,  nor  did  I  care.  I  had 
had  enough  of  tailoring.  My  mother  was  delighted 
when  I  told  her  I  had  found  a  place ;  but  when  she 
learned  where  it  was,  her  heart  sank  within  her, 
her  countenance  fell.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  I  don't  want 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  41 

you  to  go  there."  I  begged  very  hard.  "  I  cannot 
bear  the  idea  of  your  spending  your  days  and  even- 
ings in  a  place  of  amusement.  I  am  afraid  you 
will  never  learn  anything  good  or  useful  there." 
But  after  teasing  and  promising  not  to  learn  any- 
thing bad,  I  finally  prevailed  upon  her  to  allow  me 
to  apply  for  the  situation,  but  not  to  engage  my- 
self to  any  one  until  she  had  seen  and  talked  with 
them. 

I  slept  well  that  night,  and  was  up  bright  and 
early,  to  be  ready  as  soon  as  the  Museum  should  be 
open.  On  nearing  it  I  approached  with  faltering 
steps  and  a  heart  trembling  with  doubts  and  fears, 
—  not  such  as  my  mother  felt,  but  that  I  might  find 
the  paper  removed  from  the  doorpost.  But  no !  it 
was  still  there.  Little  did  I  think  then  how  much 
hung  upon  that,  —  how  much  that  paper  was  des- 
tined to  influence  or  give  direction  to  my  whole 
future  life.  And  now  I  shudder  when  I  think 
what  my  life  might  have  been,  had  I  not  happened 
to  be  the  first  to  secure  the  influence  of  that  bit  of 
paper.  Happened?  It  was  to  be.  I  believe  it 
was  my  good  angel  that  pointed  out  to  me  that 
doubtful  path  leading  to  a  happy  life,  —  the  angel 
whose  presence  I  have  since  recognized  at  various 
stages  of  that  life. 

I  entered,  and  was  met  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
by  a  dignified,  rather  clerical-looking  gentleman, 


42  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN. 

wearing  a  white  cravat,  which  was  not  habitual  in 
those  days  with  any  but  clergymen.  When  I  told 
him  I  had  come  up  in  answer  to  the  paper  at  the 
door,  he  asked  my  name  and  if  I  had  any  recom- 
mendation. I  told  him  he  could  inquire  of  the 
"  merchant  tailor "  on  State  Street.  He  then 
called  a  pleasant-looking  young  man,  whom  I  per- 
ceived to  be  blind;  and  telling  him  what  I  had  come 
for,  asked  him  to  talk  with  me  while  he  ran  down 
to  State  Street  a  moment.  I  think  the  blind  gen- 
tleman was  pleased  with  my  voice,  —  which  was 
always  mild  in  tone  while  speaking,  —  for  when  the 
other  gentleman  returned,  looking,  I  thought,  as  if 
he  had  not  received  a  bad  account  of  me,  he  told 
him  he  thought  I  would  do. 

The  clerical  gentleman  then  told  me  I  could 
come  on  trial,  at  the  same  wages  I  had  been  receiv- 
ing. I  was,  of  course,  delighted,  but  told  him  I  had 
promised  my  mother  not  to  engage  myself  till  he 
had  seen  and  talked  with  her.  This  seemed  to 
please  him,  and  he  proposed  to  go  with  me  at  once 
to  see  her. 

After  a  little  conversation  she  became  reconciled 
to  the  situation.  I  think  it  was  the  white  cravat 
more  than  anything  else  that  quieted  her  doubts ; 
but  I  was  happy,  and  returned  at  once  to  my 
friend  the  foreman,  who  congratulated  me  on  find- 
ing another  place  so  soon.  So,  after  a  hearty 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  43 

shake  of  the  hand  and  a  "  Be  a  good  boy,  Thomas," 
from  the  gentlemanly  merchant  tailor,  —  who  I 
must  say  was  never  unkind  to  me,  —  I  left  them  to 
enter  upon  my  new  duties  at  the  Museum.  These 
duties  I  soon  learned  consisted  of  sweeping  the 
iloors,  dusting  the  pictures,  keeping  clean  the  glass 
cases,  and  showing  strangers  through  the  Museum. 
The  latter  was  pleasant  enough,  and  I  did  not  mind 
dusting  the  pictures ;  but  I  think  if  it  had  depended 
on  me  to  keep  the  glass  clear,  it  would  have  soon 
become  completely  opaque,  for  washing  glass  was 
my  abomination.  But  aside  from  that,  I  soon 
managed  to  make  myself  useful  in  other  ways. 
Bringing  forward  my  mechanical  ingenuity,  I  suc- 
ceeded in  making  several  things  "  go "  that  had 
been  resting  in  idleness  for  a  long  time.  For  in- 
stance :  Across  one  end  of  the  first  hall  stood  a 
row  of  thirteen  little  girls,  as  large  as  life,  dressed 
in  fanciful  costumes  whose  colors  suggested  the 
American  flag.  These  little  misses,  whose  pretty 
wax  heads  were  decked  with  stars,  represented  the 
thirteen  original  States  of  the  Union.  Each  one 
held  in  her  hand  a  little  hammer  to  strike  a  bell 
in  front  of  her.  These  bells  were  graduated  and 
tuned  to  form  a  musical  scale  of  an  octave  and  a 
half.  At  the  end  of  the  row  was  attached  a  good- 
sized  hand-organ,  which  played  all  the  patriotic 
airs,  accompanied  by  the  little  girls  on  their  bells. 


44  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS   AND  TEN. 

This  pleasing  contrivance,  called  the  "  Musical  An- 
droides,"  had  great  attraction  for  the  country- 
people.  But  at  the  time  when  I  entered  on  the 
scene,  the  whole  thing  was  sadly  demoralized : 
nearly  one  half  the  States  had  seceded,  and  de- 
clined to  join  in  the  national  airs;  while  the 
organ,  though  very  shaky  and  wheezy,  was  still 
true  to  the  Union,  —  being  inclined  to  play  two 
tunes  at  once.  This  was  owing  to  the  fact  that  the 
notes  in  the  "  barrel "  were  sadly  bent  and  out  of 
place,  and  that  the  wind-chest  "syphered"  awfully, 
—  so  the  blind  young  man  said,  who,  by  the  way, 
had  taken  a  fancy  to  me,  and  was  confident  that 
with  our  united  ingenuity  we  could  soon  repair 
those  false  notes,  put  a  stop  to  that  confounded 
syphering,  and  coax  those  rebellious  young  ladies 
back  into  the  Union.  And  we  did  it,  too,  to  the 
surprise  and  satisfaction  of  the  clerical  gentleman, 
who,  I  should  have  said  before,  was  not  a  clergy- 
man, but  a  very  respectable  and  struggling  por- 
trait-painter, who  took  the  superintendence  of  the 
Museum  to  help  "  make  the  pot  boil."  The  white 
cravat  was  only  an  eccentricity  of  his. 

Our  next  attack  was  upon  another  organ  attach- 
ment called  the  "  Military  Androides ; "  where 
various  couples  were  seen  waltzing  about,  while 
companies  of  soldiers  crossed  and  recrossed  the 
hall,  escorting  Napoleon,  Wellington,  Washington, 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN.  45 

and  other  modern  heroes.  These  we  found  some- 
what harder  to  manage  than  the  little  Union  girls, 
although  the  heroes  were  much  smaller  in  size; 
but  we  soon  brought  them  to  their  senses,  so  that 
they  resumed  their  harmonious  march. 

There  were  other  mechanical  contrivances  which 
needed  repair  ;  one  especially,  called  "  The  Hall  of 
Industry."  Upon  a  stage,  six  feet  square,  were 
placed  about  twenty  little  figures,  each  representing 
a  different  mechanical  trade.  On  turning  a  crank 
behind,  out  of  sight,  the  whole  twenty  were  set 
frantically  to  work,  hammering,  sawing,  pushing, 
pulling,  hoisting,  and  lowering,  with  the  accom- 
panying noise  and  clatter  that  was  perfectly 
satisfactory.  But  now  for  a  long  time  this  estab- 
lishment had  sadly  belied  its  name.  There  had 
been  a  "  strike "  among  the  mechanics,  one  half 
of  them  refusing  to  work,  and  the  rest  seeming 
discouraged  or  intimidated,  till  we  came  among 
them,  furnishing  a  new  strap  to  one  and  a  new 
spring  to  another,  when  we  finally  convinced  them 
that  with  all  our  grinding  we  had  no  desire  to 
"  grind  them  down ; "  and  with  a  little  encourage- 
ment from  us  they  took  hold  again  as  vigorously 
and  noisily  as  ever,  and  we  never  had  any  more 
trouble  with  them. 

All  this  was  very  delightful  to  me.  I  was  per- 
fectly happy  till  all  the  repairing  was  done,  when 


46  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN. 

the  time  began  to  hang  heavy  on  my  hands,  and  the 
dust  to  lie  thick  upon  the  glass  cases  and  picture- 
frames.  In  vain  the  superintendent  threw  out  his 
gentle  hints,  suggesting  that  I  should  tell  the  visi- 
tors not  to  put  their  hands  on  the  glass,  as  it  was 
so  soiled  now  that  they  could  hardly  see  through 
it.  I  tried  two  or  three  cases,  but  my  heart  was 
not  in  the  work ;  consequently  it  was  far  from  be- 
ing as  successful  as  that  upon  the  automatons. 

And  now  comes  looming  up  the  proprietor,  a 
perfect  Goliath ;  of  very  imposing  presence,  some- 
what resembling  Gen.  Ben  Butler,  especially  about 
the  eyes.  He  appeared  about  once  a  month,  from 
his  home  in  Hubbardston,  to  collect  the  "  quar- 
ters "  that  had  accumulated  from  visitors  to  the 
Museum.  He  seldom  stopped  more  than  one 
night ;  and  that  was  passed  in  a  side  room  which 
was  kept  locked,  and  which  no  one  was  ever  al- 
lowed to  enter,  that  we  were  aware  of,  even  to  dust 
it  or  make  his  bed.  He  was  a  rather  jolly  old 
giant,  especially  when  he  found  a  goodly  amount  of 
cash  to  carry  back  with  him  to  his  country  home, 
where  he  had  a  large  hotel  and  made  other  im- 
provements in  his  native  town  that  speedily  swal- 
lowed up  all  the  money  that  the  Museum  could  be 
made  to  yield.  He  never  spent  anything  in  Boston 
but  tickets,  if  he  could  avoid  it ;  making  a  practice 
of  paying  for  everything  with  either  season  or  sin- 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  47 

gle  tickets  to  the  Museum.  So,  of  course,  there  was 
an  extensive  free  list ;  and  as  there  were  at  that 
time  no  club-houses,  the  halls  of  the  Museum  were 
enlivened  on  most  evenings  by  a  miscellaneous 
assemblage,  mostly  of  tradesmen,  with  a  liberal 
sprinkling  of  doctors,  lawyers,  artists,  etc. 

I  well  remember  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  Dr. 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  It  was  a  summer  day,  and 
although  he  must  have  been  twenty-five  years  old, 
he  wore,  for  comfort  as  an  outer  garment,  a  white 
linen  short-jacket.  It  was  not  an  uncommon  gar- 
ment for  gentlemen  in  those  sultry  days,  often 
giving  them  a  boyish  look  in  the  back  view.  Mr. 
Kimball,  pointing  to  the  Doctor,  asked  me  if  I 
knew  who  that  was.  "  Who  ?  —  the  boy  in  the 
white  jacket  ? "  "  That  boy  in  the  white  jacket," 
said  he,  "  is  the  celebrated  surgeon  and  funny  poet, 
Dr.  Holmes."  I  opened  my  eyes  in  wonder,  not  so 
much  at  the  celebrated  surgeon  as  at  the  author  of 
"  the  tall  young  oysterman  "  who  lived  by  the  river- 
side,—-a  song  upon  whose  titlepage  I  had  seen  the 
Doctor's  name.  He  was  now  standing  looking  at 
the  celebrated  "Fiji  Mermaid,"  probably  studying 
its  complicated  anatomy.  This  was  before  P.  T. 
Barnum  had  made  her  famous. 

Speaking  of  the  Mermaid,  I  think  I  may  claim 
the  honor  of  being  one  of  the  first  to  acknowledge 
the  merits  of  the  young  lady  and  to  introduce  her 


48  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

to  an  admiring  public.  It  came  about  in  this  way. 
One  day  a  sailor  came  to  the  Museum  to  say  that 
his  captain,  who  was  then  in  port,  had  brought 
home  with  him  a  most  wonderful  curiosity  which 
he  would  like  to  sell,  —  no  less  than  a  real,  preserved 
mermaid,  urging  the  superintendent  to  come  down 
and  see  it.  His  story  was  listened  to  as  a  sailor's 
yarn.  I,  being  a  boy,  believed  every  word  of  it, 
and  asked  to  be  allowed  to  go  down  and  see  it. 
As  it  would  do  no  harm,  and  my  time  was  not 
worth  much,  they  said  I  might  go.  So  my  blind 
friend  and  I  started  off  together  for  the  captain's 
boarding-house  in  Ann  Street.  I,  of  course,  was 
disappointed  at  not  seeing  a  beautiful  flesh-colored 
female,  but  soon  became  interested  after  a  careful 
examination,  not  being  able  to  discover  the  point  of 
junction  between  the  codfish  and  monkey  which 
seemed  to  be  the  component  parts  of  the  creature. 

After  learning  that  the  price  was  one  hundred 
dollars,  we  returned  and  reported  so  favorably  of 
the  ugly  thing,  that  the  owner  was  invited  to  the 
Museum,  where  he  left  his  lady,  departing  seventy- 
five  dollars  richer  than  he  came. 

The  Boston  surgeons  soon  became  as  much 
interested  in  her  as  I  was ;  although,  to  my  sur- 
prise, they  were  more  sceptical.  But  I  know  from 
some  of  their  remarks  that  they  would  have  liked 
to  dissect  her.  There's  one  thing  about  it;  if  she 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  49 

was  a  manufactured  article,  why  has  there  never 
been  another  one  made  ?  Poor  thing !  I  wonder 
where  she  is  now. 

But  to  retrace  my  steps.  Squire  Greenwood  (I 
believe  I  have  not  mentioned  the  name  of  the  bulky 
proprietor  before)  was  quite  a  respectable  portrait- 
painter  in  his  young  days,  and  many  of  the  por- 
traits now  hanging  in  the  Boston  Museum  were 
from  his  hand.  His  only  remark  when  he  saw 
me  and  heard  that  I  had  been  engaged  as  an  as- 
sistant was  that  he  hoped  the  cases  and  picture- 
frames  would  be  kept  cleaner  in  future.  Alas! 
Hope  told  Mm  a  flattering  tale. 

When  he  returned  the  next  time,  he  looked 
round  and  asked  me  how  many  cases  I  had 
cleaned.  I  told  him  not  many,  as  I  had  not 
had  time.  "  Not  time  ? "  said  he ;  « I  don't  think 
you  know  how  much  time  you  waste.  I  '11  tell  you 
what  you  must  do, —  get  a  little  book  and  keep  a 
journal.  Every  man  should  keep  a  journal,  in  or- 
der to  know  where  the  time  goes.  Write  in  it 
everything  you  do ;  and  when  I  come  back,  let  me 
see  how  much  you  have  written."  I  reluctantly 
promised  to  set  this  ingenious  trap  for  myself ;  but 
I  had  not  much  faith  in  it.  I  procured  the  book, 
however,  and  began  to  write  in  it,  hoping  all  the 
time  that  he  would  forget  to  ask  for  it.  But  no ! 
here  was  something  he  was  paying  for  at  the  rate 


50  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN. 

of  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  week, — not  in  tickets,  but  in 
hard  cash,  —  and  he  was  bound  to  get  the  worth  of 
his  money  if  he  could ;  and  who  could  blame  him 
for  it  ?  When  he  saw  me  again,  the  first  thing  he 
asked  to  see  my  journal.  I  produced  it  with  fear 
and  trembling,  painfully  aware  that  so  far  as 
cleaning  glass  was  concerned  I  had  not  earned 
my  salt.  He  took  the  book  and  began  to  read.  It 
ran  something  like  this  :  — 

Monday. —  Swept  the  floor  of  the  first  hall.  Went 
round  with  some  visitors.  Went  to  dinner.  Cleaned 
a  glass  case :  very  hard  to  clean.  Went  round  with 
some  visitors.  Went  to  supper. 

Tuesday.  —  Swept  another  room.  Dusted  the  frames. 
Went  to  dinner.  Was  going  to  clean  another  case,  but 
could  n't  find  the  rags.  Went  round  with  some  visitors. 
Went  to  supper. 

Wednesday.  —  Made  a  new  horse  for  the  wood- 
sawyer,  and  fixed  the  blacksmith  so  he  would  go. 
Dusted  picture-frames.  Went  to  dinner.  Began  to 
clean  another  glass  case.  Went  round  with  some 
visitors.  Went  to  supper. 

"  I  am  glad  we  have  had  so  many  visitors,"  said 
the  Squire.  "  But  I  don't  see  anything  written  for 
Thursday." 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  I  forgot  to  write  about 
Thursday." 

The  jolly  giant,  being  something  of  a  wag,  ap- 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  51 

predating  my  awkward  position,  exclaimed  with  a 
"  Haw  !  haw ! "  :  "  Upon  my  soul !  I  really  believe 
the  boy  is  a  genius,  he 's  so  lazy ! "  He  never 
asked  to  see  my  journal  after  that.  If  he  had,  he 
would  have  seen  nothing  new  in  it,  for  I  never 
opened  it  afterward. 

Always  on  the  4th  of  July  and  on  any  other 
special  holiday,  the  Squire  made  his  appearance,  in 
order  to  take  immediate  possession  of  the  extraor- 
dinary receipts,  which  he  carried  away  the  next 
day.  On  the  evenings  of  those  occasions  the  crowd 
of  visitors  was  so  great  as  to  require  several  per- 
sons to  make  change ;  and  when  the  current  up  the 
stairs  became  too  great,  the  giant  would  place  his 
square  yard  of  back  against  the  crowd  and  stop  it 
like  a  stone-wall.  And  if  his  good  eye  happened  to 
fall  upon  a  negro  coming  up  the  stairs,  he  would 
call  out  in  his  big,  jolly  voice,  "  Here,  you  dar- 
key !  you  'd  better  turn  back ;  we  don't  want  any 
huckleberries  here  to-night."  That  witticism  in- 
variably put  the  crowd  in  good  humor.  Negroes 
were  only  admitted  on  ordinary  occasions. 

Notwithstanding  my  habitual  indolence,  I  man- 
aged to  keep  my  place  and  become  a  favorite, 
especially  with  my  blind  friend,  with  whom  it  was 
always  pleasant  to  be,  and  who  was  not  long  in 
discovering  my  musical  proclivities.  Among  the 
"deadheads"  who  frequented  the  Museum  were 


52  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

several  young  clerks  and  artists  who  were  musical, 
and  who  found  it  pleasant  to  exercise  their  humble 
amateur  talents  in  the  little  orchestra,  which  was 
situated  over  the  ticket-office,  and  opened  into  the 
first  hall,  where  they  were  above  the  heads  of  the 
people,  and  could  be  entirely  out  of  sight  if  they 
wished.  Here  they  would  vie  with  one  another  for 
the  applause  of  such  of  the  visitors  as  pleased  to 
remain  to  hear,  without  seeing  them. 

One  day  my  friend  heard  my  voice  when  I  was 
alone  and  supposed  I  was  out  of  hearing.  He  im- 
mediately dragged  me  to  the  piano,  and  made  me, 
after  much  urging,  repeat  to  his  accompaniment 
the  song  I  had  been  humming.  He  was  much 
surprised  at  my  voice,  which  I  may  after  all  these 
years  be  permitted  to  add  was  a  strong,  pure,  high 
soprano,  of  exceedingly  pleasant  quality,  and  which 
I  was  finally  persuaded  to  let  the  people  hear ;  re- 
sulting, after  my  first  fright,  in  much  applause 
and  many  wagers  as  to  the  sex  of  the  unseen 
singer.  People  hearing  the  voice  from  the  street 
would  come  up  and  pay  their  "  quarter,"  in  order 
to  decide  their  bets. 

I  soon  found  agreeable  employment  for  part  of 
my  leisure  time  in  scraping  away  at  an  old  violin  I 
found  in  the  orchestra,  which  was  kept  for  the  ser- 
vice of  any  who  wished  to  play  on  it  for  noth- 
ing. There  were  several  whom  I  remember,  —  one, 


MY   THKEESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  53 

a  young  man  named  Page  Chapman,  who  after- 
ward went  West  and  became  the  editor  of  a  polit- 
ical journal;  another,  a  young  scene-painter  at 
the  "  Warren  Theatre."  Both  played  pretty  well, 
as  I  thought.  I  worked  away  at  the  old  violin, 
with  a  little  assistance  from  the  amateurs,  till  I  was 
able  to  accompany  my  friend  with  his  piano  in  the 
simple  music  he  played. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ONE  day  when  I  was  alone,  the  others  having 
gone  to  dinner,  the  idea  occurred  to  me  to  take 
pencil  and  paper  and  try  to  copy  one  of  the  many 
portraits  covering  the  walls.  I  chose  one  that  was 
painted  in  profile,  as  being  the  most  easy  to  copy, 
and  succeeded  pretty  well  with  the  outline,  but 
rather  failed  in  the  filling  in.  So  I  cut  out  the 
filling  and  threw  it  away,  leaving  a  silhouette, 
which  by  placing  black  behind  it  became  one  of  the 
cheap  portraits  so  popular  in  those  days.  I  showed 
it  to  a  young  wood-engraver  who  frequently 
dropped  in  of  an  evening.  He  compared  it  with 
the  portrait,  and  said  I  had  done  very  well  for  the 
first  attempt,  and  he  thought  I  might  make  some 
money  by  cutting  the  profiles  of  the  country  visi- 
tors. I  told  him  I  had  never  drawn  anything  from 
life,  and  did  not  think  I  could  do  it.  "  But,"  said 
he,  "  there  's  no  necessity  of  drawing  to  make  that 
kind  of  thing  from  life.  Get  a  machine."  That 
was  a  new  idea  to  me.  I  asked  him  what  he 
meant.  He  said  a  friend  of  his  had  one  that  he 
thought  he  would  like  to  sell,  as  he  did  not  use 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  55 

it  any  more.  He  would  speak  to  him  about  it. 
I  hardly  liked  the  idea  of  a  machine  doing  in  a 
moment  what  had  cost  me  so  much  labor ;  but  if 
there  were  any  money  to  be  made  out  of  it,  I 
was  ready  to  overlook  the  indignity,  and  wait 
as  patiently  as  I  could  for  my  friend's  next  visit. 
He  came  the  next  evening  and  reported  that  I 
could  have  the  machine  for  ten  dollars,  and  the 
owner  would  wait  for  the  money  till  the  machine 
had  earned  that  amount.  There  certainly  could  be 
nothing  fairer  than  that. 

I  was  not  long  next  morning  in  seeing  the  owner 
and  bringing  away  the  instrument,  which  consisted 
of  what  is  called  a  pentograph  of  wood,  to  be 
placed  flat  against  the  wall.  From  one  end  of  it 
projected,  at  right  angles,  a  slim  steel  knife  about 
six  inches  long.  To  operate  the  machine,  the 
sitter  placed  his  ear  against  a  small  projecting  pad 
and  sat  perfectly  still.  The  artist  (?)  then,  begin- 
ning at  the  back,  passed  the  edge  of  the  projecting 
knife  gently  over  the  back  and  hair  to  the  forehead, 
then  carefully  and  "  gingerly  "  drew  it  down  over 
the  face,  throat,  and  bust,  —  occupying  about  four 
seconds,  —  when,  behold !  the  exact  outline  in  mini- 
ature would  be  found  traced  on  a  bit  of  paper  by  a 
steel  point  which  had  travelled  over  its  small  field 
in  perfect  sympathy  with  the  knife.  All  that  now 
remained  to  be  done  was  to  cut  it  out  with  a  small 


56  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

pair  of  scissors  and  put  a  bit  of  black  paper 
behind  it. 

The  next  time  the  proprietor  appeared,  I  asked 
permission  to  hang  up  my  machine  in  one  of  the 
side  rooms ;  which  he,  knowing  how  useful  I  was 
making  myself  in  various  ways,  granted,  but  ad- 
vised me  to  continue  to  try  to  learn  to  draw, 
and  kindly  refrained  from  mentioning  the  diary 
or  the  glass. 

I  started  business  at  once,  and  was  surprised 
and  delighted  to  find  how  many  desired  to  be  im- 
mortalized by  my  scissors. 

I  did  not  long  confine  myself  to  the  head  alone  ; 
but  by  practice  I  was  soon  able  to  draw  in  the 
figure  by  my  eye.  This,  while  it  obliged  me  to 
study,  brought  me  in  fifty  cents  for  each  portrait, 
which  was  four  times  as  much  as  I  received  for  a 
simple  head. 

I  also  established  a  savings-bank  in  the  shape 
of  a  box  with  a  small  hole  in  the  top  to  slip  in  my 
earnings,  until  I  very  soon  accumulated  enough 
to  pay  for  my  machine,  after  which  I  went  on 
swimmingly. 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  the  eminent  sculptor 
Henry  K.  Brown,  Squire  Greenwood,  the  proprie- 
tor, —  who  began  to  take  a  sort  of  selfish  interest 
in  me,  —  brought  and  introduced  him  to  me  in  the 
Museum,  and  suggested  that  I  should  cut  his  pro- 


MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN.  57 

file ;  which  I  did,  and  afterward  visited  him  in  his 
studio.  He  was  then  modelling  and  also  painting 
portraits.  Curiously  enough,  I  was  more  attracted 
by  his  paintings  than  his  busts,  although  the  latter 
—  the  first  I  had  ever  seen  in  clay  —  seemed  to  me 
much  more  wonderful.  Perhaps,  for  that  reason, 
no  thought  or  desire  entered  my  head  or  heart  to 
attempt  anything  of  the  kind  myself.  I  do  not 
think  I  ever  met  him  again  till  I  greeted  him  as  a 
brother  sculptor  in  Washington,  more  than  twenty 
years  after.  Then  he  reminded  me  of  the  profile 
I  cut  for  him  in  the  old  Museum,  which  I  had 
entirely  forgotten,  but  which  he  said  he  still 
preserved. 

It  was  here  also,  in  the  Museum,  that  I  first 
heard  of  Hiram  Powers,  —  not  however  as  the  great 
sculptor,  but  as  "that  fellow  in  the  Cincinnati 
Museum,  —  the  cutest  fellow  you  ever  see!  He 
filled  a  little  room  all  full  of  figgers  jumping  about 
and  cutting  all  sorts  of  capers,  and  had  the  walls 
all  painted  like  fiery  flames.  He  called  it  the  in- 
fernal regions,  but  I  called  it  hell  when  I  happened 
to  take  holt  of  the  railing  round  it,  and  got  a  shock 
that  'most  broke  every  bone  in  my  body.  They 
laughed,  and  said  it  was  'lectricity  ;  but  I  thought 
the  devil  had  kicked  me." 

I  often  heard  of  "that  ingenious  fellow"  from 
the  Western  visitors  to  the  Museum.  Little  did 


58  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

I  think,  then,  that  "  that  fellow  "  would  ever  take 
me  by  the  hand  in  a  far-distant  country,  and 
welcome  me  as  a  brother  sculptor,  and  that  we 
should  sometimes  compare  notes  and  experiences 
in  times  long  past  as  Museum  boys. 

Here  let  me  pause  to  apologize  for  presenting  two 
words  —  one  of  which  I  have  used  before  —  in  full, 
instead  of  skeleton  form.  I  am  aware  that  it  is 
vulgar  to  do  so.  But  they  are  not  my  words ;  and 
their  skeletons  would  fail  to  do  full  justice  to  the 
peculiar  language  of  their  authors.  I  do  not  for- 
get a  spanking  I  got  once  for  calling  a  boy  a 
"  cruel  little  devil."  My  father  heard  me,  and  the 
spanking  followed.  But  his  spanks  never  did  hurt 
much ;  although  on  this  occasion  I  felt  a  little 
grieved  inwardly,  because  I  knew  the  boy  was  just 
what  I  called  him. 

I  know  it  is  considered  indelicate  to  write  those 
words  in  full.  But  in  telling  a  story  the  outside 
letters  are  about  as  effectual  as  baling  out  a  boat 
with  a  gridiron.  However,  I  shall  omit  all  such 
words  in  future. 

I  had  now  been  in  the  Museum  three  years.  In 
the  mean  time  my  wages  had  been  increased  to  two 
dollars  a  week,  which  with  the  money  I  picked  up 
from  cutting  profiles  enabled  me  to  scrub  along. 
I  drew  a  little  every  day,  and  dabbled  a  little  in 
water  colors  in  the  way  of  copying.  I  had  also 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  59 

attempted  one  or  two  miniatures  from  life,  but  had 
hardly  thought  as  yet  of  becoming  an  artist,  till 
one  day  my  mother  expressed  to  me  more  earnestly 
than  usual  her  anxiety  for  my  future.  Friends 
had  told  her  she  was  not  doing  her  duty  if  she 
allowed  me  to  go  on  any  longer  in  the  way  I  was 
going,  and  that  she  ought  to  insist  upon  my  learn- 
ing some  good  trade.  I  then  suggested  to  her  my 
great  desire  to  be  an  artist,  which  idea  she  tried  to 
persuade  me  to  abandon,  fearing  my  failure  ever 
to  be  able  to  earn  my  living.  However,  she  con- 
sented to  consult  and  be  advised  by  our  clerical 
superintendent,  the  portrait-painter.  But  great 
was  my  disappointment  the  next  day,  when  she 
asked  his  advice,  to  hear  him  tell  her  she  had 
much  better  apprentice  me  to  a  bricklayer  than 
consent  to  my  becoming  an  artist.  He  spoke  feel 
ingly,  from  his  own  experience.  Poor  man!  he 
had  a  hard  struggle  of  it  all  his  life. 

Now,  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  necessary  to  com- 
promise the  matter  in  some  way.  Among  the 
constant  attendants  at  the  Museum  were  Mr.  Abel 
Bowen,  the  then  celebrated  wood-engraver,  and  his 
half-dozen  or  more  apprentices,  who  all  had  season- 
tickets  taken  in  payment  for  various  wood-cuts 
made  for  the  "  posters."  These  boys  I  talked  with, 
and  finally,  with  my  mother's  consent,  asked  Mr. 
Bowen  if  he  would  add  me  to  his  list  of  pupils. 


60  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN. 

He  said  he  thought  there  was  no  doubt  about  my 
being  able  to  learn  the  business  if  I  applied  myself 
diligently  ;  that  T  might  come  for  a  year  on  trial, 
and  if  at  the  end  of  that  time  we  were  both  satis- 
fied, 1  could  keep  on,  and  he  would  then  give  me 
for  the  future  whatever  I  might  be  worth  to  him. 
For  the  first  year,  of  course,  I  would  receive  noth- 
ing. That  last  remark  was  very  reasonable,  but 
very  alarming.  What  could  I  do  ?  I  should  have 
nothing  to  live  on  for  a  year.  Here,  notwithstand- 
ing my  humble  ability  and  pretensions,  Music 
stepped  in  to  lend  me  a  helping  hand  to  meet  the 
emergency. 

Not  long  before  this,  another  place  of  amuse- 
ment had  been  opened  in  the  building  opposite 
the  head  of  Hanover  Street.  It  was  called  the 
u  State  Museum,"  owned  and  conducted  by  Ma- 
dame Duchesne. 

One  day  the  lady  sent  for  me  to  call  on  her. 
Major  Stevens  —  a  famous  dwarf  of  those  days,  and 
a  very  warm  friend  of  mine  —  was  then  exhibiting 
at  her  Museum,  and  had  spoken  to  her  of  me. 
The  Major  was  a  very  intelligent  little  fellow, 
about  three  feet  high,  and  something  of  an  artist 
himself  in  the  way  of  drawing  on  wood  for  engrav- 
ing. I  went  over  and  called  on  Madame  Duchesne. 
She  asked,  without  much  ceremony,  what  Squire 
Greenwood  was  paying  me  for  my  services.  I  told 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN.  61 

her  two  dollars  a  week ;  but  that  I  was  thinking 
about  giving  up  my  situation,  to  learn  a  trade. 
She  disappeared  'for  a  moment,  and  returned  with 
a  violin  and  begged  me  to  play  her  something. 
After  playing  two  or  three  simple  melodies,  she 
said  :  "  I  suppose  your  trade  will  only  occupy  the 
day  ;  your  evenings  will  be  free.  Now,  if  you  will 
come  to  me,  I  will  give  you  the  two  dollars  a  week 
for  your  evenings  alone."  I  told  her  I  would  think 
of  it.  But  the  thought  was  not  a  pleasant  one. 
However,  it  gave  me  a  new  idea,  and  I  ought  to 
feel  grateful  to  Madame  for  the  hint. 

When  the  proprietor  made  his  appearance  again, 
I  told  him  what  I  wanted  to  do  in  regard  to  learn- 
ing a  trade,  and  also  what  Madame  had  offered  me. 

He  thought  I  was  right  in  what  I  desired  to  do, 
and  added :  "  I  guess  you  are  worth  as  much  to  me 
as  to  Madame  Duchesne.  So  we  '11  let  the  wages 
go  on,  and  you  can  give  us  your  evenings,  and 
occasionally  cut  a  profile,  which  will  be  so  much 
the  better." 

Of  course  I  was  delighted,  and  immediately  be- 
gan my  apprenticeship  to  Mr.  Abel  Bowen,  who 
with  two  or  three  engravers  had  formed  an  asso- 
ciation called  the  "Bewick  Company,"  and  occu- 
pied, with  their  several  pupils,  a  large  hall  in  Court 
Street.  These  pupils  were  a  jolly  set  of  boys, 
harmlessly  mischievous  as  any  boys  need  to  be, 


62  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

with  two  exceptions.  One  of  these  was  harmless, 
and  the  other  mischievous.  The  former  —  I  think 
the  oldest  of  these  pupils  —  was  a  very  quiet,  seri- 
ous young  man,  of  a  rather  religious  turn  of  mind, 
and  naturally  the  victim  of  many  of  the  practical 
jokes.  The  latter,  his  opposite  in  every  respect, 
might  be  called  a  rough  customer ;  he  had  been  to 
sea  one  or  two  voyages,  was  not  backward  in  join- 
ing in  the  fun,  but  let  any  one  of  them  play  a  joke 
on  him,  he  would  offer  to  "  lick  "  the  whole  crowd 
if  he  could  not  discover  the  perpetrator. 

I  will  give  here  two  specimens  of  these  harmless 
jokes,  although  none  but  boys  will  be  likely  to 
appreciate  them. 

I  had  made  for  myself  a  convenient  little  box  to 
lock  up  my  tools  in,  and  this  the  boys  took  great 
delight  in  hiding  from  me.  One  morning  I  missed 
it  from  my  desk,  and  after  hunting  in  vain  for  it 
in  every  nook  and  corner,  it  occurred  to  me  to 
mount  a  ladder  that  stood  under  a  scuttle  cut  in 
the  roof  for  ventilation.  Upon  looking  out,  I  saw 
my  poor  little  box  mounted  upon  the  tallest  chim- 
ney growing  out  of  the  very  ridge-pole  of  this  steep 
roof.  I  recognized  at  once  the  hand  of  the  sailor, 
for  no  one  but  a  sailor  or  a  monkey  could  have 
reached  that  eminence  and  returned  safely.  So 
to  the  sailor  I  was  forced  to  humble  myself,  and 
after  much  persuasion  recovered  my  precious  box, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  63 

but  at  the  sacrifice  of  a  new  ink-ball  which  I  had 
made  for  my  own  particular  use  and  which  he  had 
long  coveted. 

The  old  Museum  had  recently  added  above  its 
ridge-pole  a  railed  platform  for  the  benefit  of  the 
country-people,  and  called  an  "  observatory,"  — 
although  there  was  little  to  observe  beyond  the 
roofs  of  the  neighboring  houses.  Our  serious 
young  man,  George  Miles  by  name,  had  engraved  a 
large  wood-cut  representing  the  Museum  with  flags 
flying  above  the  new  addition,  to  head  the  posters, 
announcing  in  the  biggest  type  "  OBSERVA- 
TORY." The  young  irrepressibles  for  a  1st  of 
April  joke  took  one  of  these  posters,  —  which  had 
been  preserved  for  a  proof  of  the  cut,  —  removed 
and  divided  into  three  words  that  conspicuous  poly- 
syllable after  this  fashion,  «  OBSERY.  A  TORY," 
and  pinned  it  on  to  Miles's  back,  as  a  reminiscence 
of  his  last  work.  But  with  all  their  mischief,  they 
all  respected  him  too  much  to  have  allowed  him  to 
go  out  with  that  silly  observation  pinned  to  him. 

About  this  time  the  question  suddenly  fulminated 
on  the  community — and  met  either  with  a  burst  of 
indignation,  a  sly  twinkle  in  the  eye,  or  with  a  loud 
"  Ha !  ha!"  according  to  the  way  each  one  looked  at 
it  —  was,  "  Who  decapitated  the  new  figure-head 
on  «  Old  Ironsides '  ? " 

It  will  be  remembered  by  many  that,  by  an  Act 


64  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

of  Congress,  the  old  frigate  "  Constitution "  was 
ordered  to  be  overhauled  and  repaired.  When  this 
was  done,  the  party  in  power,  I  think,  suggested 
and  carried  out  the  idea  of  removing  the  old  figure- 
head, —  which,  my  impression  is,  was  a  female 
figure,  —  and  substituting  a  colossal  statue  of  "  Old 
Hickory,"  —  Gen.  Andrew  Jackson,  —  much  to  the 
disgust  of  the  opposite  party.  But  the  morning 
after  the  first  stormy  night  revealed  the  ghastly 
fact  that "  Old  Hickory  "  had  lost  his  head.  Hence 
the  startling  question,  which  has  never  been  satis- 
factorily answered  from  that  day  to  this. 

But  what  I  was  about  to  say  in  connection  with 
these  mischievous  boys  was  this :  They  conceived 
among  themselves  the  idea  of  launching  on  the 
public,  before  the  excitement  caused  by  the  outrage 
had  subsided,  a  good-sized  wood-cut  representing 
the  "  sawing  off,"  illuminated  by  a  blazing  flash  of 
lightning,  —  which  failed,  however,  to  reveal  the 
nocturnal  execution  to  the  eyes  of  the  sentries,  who 
had  gone  in  out  of  the  rain. 

One  of  the  juvenile  conspirators  went  over  to  the 
navy-yard  and  made  a  careful  sketch  of  the  old 
ship,  —  this  was  before  the  days  of  photographs,  — 
and  they  all  worked  on  the  block  by  turns  to  facili- 
tate its  advent.  But,  alas !  just  as  it  was  finally 
ready  to  be  printed,  the  old  gentleman,  Bowen, 
heard  of  it,  and  was  horror-stricken  at  the  idea; 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  65 

fairly  shuddering  at  the  narrow  escape  of  the 
Bewick  Company,  whose  honor  and  credit  —  he  ex- 
plained to  the  boys  —  would  be  ruined  forever  by 
such  a  joke  being  traced  to  them.  He  was  so 
grateful,  however,  at  having  discovered  it  in  time, 
and  also  so  appreciated  the  disappointment  of  his 
boys  at  being  deprived  of  their  joke,  that  he 
bought  the  dangerous  boxwood  block  of  them  at 
a  generous  price  and  destroyed  it. 

Among  the  regular  patrons  of  the  Bewick  Com- 
pany, while  I  was  with  them,  was  the  comic  actor 
and  punster  of  the  Tremont  Theatre,  Henry  J. 
Finn,  familiarly  called  "  Old  Finn,"  from  the  char- 
acters he  liked  to  assume.  It  is  not  generally 
known,  or  has  been  forgotten  by  those  who  remem- 
ber him,  that  he  was  a  draughtsman  and  designer  of 
no  mean  capacity.  For  his  benefit  nights  he  gen- 
erally designed  some  caricature  or  illustrated  one 
of  his  comic  songs  as  a  heading  for  the  programme. 
These  he  would  draw  on  the  wood,  and  bring  to 
the  Bewick  Company  to  engrave.  I  can  now  re- 
call his  genial  face,  the  glow  of  pleasure  that  would 
steal  over  it,  and  his  delighted  "Do  you  think 
so  ? "  when  some  one  would  remark  that  he  was 
improving  in  his  drawing. 

Those  boys  have  mostly  passed  out  of  my  sight 
and  knowledge,  but  not  out  of  my  memory. 
Hainmat  Billings, — the  handsome,  blue-eyed  one, — 

5 


66  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

after  making  for  himself  an  enviable  reputation  as 
an  architect,  died.  Tom  Deveroux  —  the  dashing, 
musical  one  —  I  last  saw  in  Philadelphia  now  nearly 
forty  years  ago.  Henry  Brown — a  delicate  boy, 
with  whom  I  had  the  most  sympathy  —  I  met 
many  years  after  in  Rome,  where  I  think  he  was 
vice-consul.  Of  the  two  odd  and  opposite  ones,  the 
sailor  I  never  met  afterward ;  but  the  serious  one 
I  was  delighted  to  receive  a  visit  from  in  my  house 
in  Florence,  as  the  Rev.  George  Miles,  of  whom  I 
shall  have  occasion  to  speak  again  later. 

But  to  return  to  engraving.  The  year  was 
passing  pleasantly  enough;  it  could  hardly  be 
otherwise  with  such  merry  companions.  I  was 
occupied  principally  in  drawing.  Finally  I  was 
intrusted  with  my  first  block  of  boxwood,  to  en- 
grave a  small  copy  of  a  wood-cut.  As  usual,  I  was 
so  slow  about  it  that  Mr.  Bowen,  —  as  it  was  an 
order, — getting  impatient,  set  another  boy  to  work 
on  the  same  job,  who  finished  it  before  mine  was 
half  done.  I  thought  he  might  have  done  it  better, 
if  he  had  taken  more  time  about  it.  But  I  kept 
on  with  mine  for  practice,  and  had  the  satisfaction 
of  hearing  Mr.  Bowen  say  that  if  he  had  thought  I 
would  do  it  so  well,  he  would  have  waited  for  me. 
That  was  my  first  and  last  engraving.  I  wish  I 
had  preserved  a  proof  of  it. 

Before  the  year  was  completed,  I  had  decided 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  67 

that  wood-engraving  was  not  my  forte.  I  was 
pining  for  color,  and  told  Mr.  Bowen  that  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  study  painting.  If  I  had 
seen  such  entrancing  effects  as  are  produced  nowa- 
days, I  should  have  thought  twice  before  giving  up 
wood-engraving.  He,  probably  thinking  that  I 
would  not  turn  out  a  very  brilliant  ornament  to  his 
profession,  only  urged  me  to  remain  till  my  year 
was  out;  and  upon  my  expressing  a  great  desire 
to  begin  painting  at  once,  consented  to  release  me. 
A  very  short  time  after  that  the  establishment  was 
burned  out,  and  the  firm  dissolved  partnership  and 
went  their  several  ways.  Mr.  Hartwell,  one  of  the 
partners,  afterward  became  quite  distinguished  as 
a  portrait-painter  in  oil  and  crayons. 


CHAPTER  X. 

I  RETURNED  to  the  old  Museum,  but  as  my  own 
master  during  the  day,  roaming  over  the  whole 
establishment  at  my  own  will,  —  drawing  a  little 
from  my  old  companions,  the  paintings  on  its 
walls ;  painting  in  water  colors  a  little,  studying 
music  a  little,  and  wasting  a  good  deal  of  time 
dreaming.  In  fact,  I  should  have  been  very  happy 
if  my  income  had  been  a  little  larger.  My  lovely 
soprano  voice  had  deserted  me  some  time  before 
this ;  but  I  had  held  on  to  it  so  long  that  when  it 
did  go,  it  departed  without  lingering,  and  in  less 
than  a  year  was  replaced  by  another  of  baser 
quality,  but  no  less  melodious,  and  more  in  keeping 
with  my  age  and  size. 

The  pecuniary  service  it  was  destined  to  be  to 
me  began  in  this  way. 

A  musical  friend  one  day  hearing  me  sing  a  song 
just  then  very  popular, — "As  I  view  now  these 
scenes  so  charming,"  from  the  opera  of  "  La 
Sonnambula,"  —  asked  permission  to  let  a  friend 
of  his  hear  me  sing  it.  I  of  course  consented, 
little  thinking  to  what  it  would  lead.  The  next 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  69 

day  he  introduced  me  to  Mr.  B.  F.  Baker,  a  well- 
known  singer  and  teacher  of  music,  who,  after 
hearing  my  voice,  asked  me  if  I  would  not  like  a 
situation  to  sing  in  church,  and  if  I  could  read 
music.  I  told  him  I  could  read  simple  music  at 
sight,  having  taught  myself  from  the  prefatory 
pages  of  the  Psalm-books  then  in  use,  with  my 
mother's  assistance.  He  invited  me  to  come  to 
him  the  next  day  and  let  him  see  how  well  I  could 
read,  which  I  readily  promised  to  do.  The  result 
was  that  he  told  me  of  a  vacancy  in  the  quartette 
choir  of  St.  Paul's  Church,  which  he  had  no  doubt 
I  could  fill  satisfactorily,  and  that  he  could  secure 
for  me  the  situation.  They  were  paying  but  small 
salaries  at  that  time,  but  it  would  be  a  good  open- 
ing and  good  practice  for  me,  and  lead  to  something 
better. 

As  you  may  imagine,  I  was  charmed  at  the  pros- 
pect of  adding  one  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  my 
small  income  by  singing  Sundays.  But  I  looked 
forward  with  fear  and  trembling,  —  fearing  that  I 
should  not  secure  the  place,  and  trembling  for  my 
capacity  to  fill  it.  My  voice,  however,  secured  for 
me  the  situation,  and  made  them  lenient  to  my 
indifferent  reading.  And  what  was  very  encour- 
aging under  the  circumstances,  they  applauded  my 
"  tearful  tremolo,"  which  was  principally  the  effect 
of  my  not  exactly  "  stage,"  but  choir  fright.  This 


70  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN. 

I  very  soon  overcame,  and  gave  so  good  satisfaction 
as  to  elicit  many  expressions  of  regret  when  at  the 
end  of  the  year  I  accepted  at  another  church  a 
higher  salary  than  they  could  pay  me. 

In  the  mean  time  my  clerical  friend,  the  artist 
and  museum-superintendent,  finding  that  I  was 
determined  not  to  adopt  "  bricklaying  "  as  a  pro- 
fession, kindly  invited  me  to  his  studio,  where  he 
gave  me  every  facility  in  his  power  to  learn  to 
paint.  Here  I  copied  two  or  three  of  his  pictures, 
and  drew  from  the  few  casts  in  his  possession. 
One  I  remember  distinctly,  —  a  cast  of  Houdon's 
bust  of  Yoltaire,  —  which  I  copied  in  oils,  in  black 
and  white ;  and  how  proud  I  felt  to  hear  an  artist 
who  called  in  ask  who  painted  it,  and  say  it  was 
like  Alexander  in  touch. 

Now,  Francis  Alexander  was  at  that  time  my 
ideal  of  a  great  artist.  He  had  lately  returned 
from  Europe,  and  his  portraits  were  the  rage. 
They  seemed  to  me  then  —  and  indeed  ever  since 
—  to  be  full  of  character,  strong  and  firm  in  draw- 
ing and  of  masterly  touch.  His  studio  at  that 
time  was  in  the  old  Columbian  Museum  building, 
which  stood  where  the  granite  building  between 
the  King's  Chapel  burying-ground  and  the  Boston 
Museum  now  stands.  He  occupied  two  large 
rooms,  —  the  outer  a  free  exhibition-room  for  his 
finished  portraits,  and  the  inner  one  his  studio. 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  71 

Many  an  hour  did  I  pass  in  that  outer  room  study- 
ing his  pictures.  He  often  put  his  head  out  of  his 
studio  door  and  bade  me  good-morning  in  his  gruff 
though  not  unkind  voice,  but  never  came  fully  out 
or  invited  me  in  to  see  him  paint. 

One  day  I  copied  in  colors  a  small  print  of  Lord 
Byron,  and  succeeded  so  well  with  the  likeness  and 
my  improvised  color  that  I  had  an  immediate  order 
to  paint  a  whole  family,  —  three  children  in  minia- 
ture, and  the  father  and  mother  in  life  size,  all  in 
oils ;  for  which  I  received  the  enormous  sum  of 
nineteen  dollars,  —  five  dollars  each  for  the  parents, 
and  three  for  each  of  the  children  !  With  this  en- 
couragement —  as  my  friend  and  master  was  about 
to  start  on  a  professional  tour  in  the  country  —  I 
decided  to  take  a  studio  myself,  and  "hang  out 
my  shingle"  in  the  shape  of  a  small  glass  case 
containing  my  Lord  Byron  with  two  or  three  other 
little  attempts,  and  a  card  announcing  "  Miniatures 
painted  in  oil.  Upstairs,"  not  da,ring  to  put  my 
name  to  them.  In  fact,  it  was  two  or  three  years 
after  opening  a  studio,  before  I  dared  to  let  my 
name  appear  at  the  door.  My  price  at  that  time 
was  three  dollars  each  for  miniatures  in  oils.  I 
had  not  the  courage  or  impudence  to  invite  life-size 
orders  until  a  year  or  two  afterward. 

I  shall  always  remember  my  first  order  in  the 
new  studio.  A  very  respectable-looking  gentleman 


72  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

appeared  one  day,  accompanied  by  a  beautiful 
young  lady,  whom  he  introduced  as  his  sister 
whose  miniature  he  was  desirous  that  I  should 
paint.  I  tremblingly  made  an  appointment  for  the 
next  day.  They  came  promptly  at  the  hour,  and 
I  began  the  picture.  Now,  this  was  the  first 
strange  young  lady  that  I  had  ever  had  occasion 
to  gaze  at  squarely  in  the  face.  If  I  could  have 
painted  her  asleep  or  with  her  eyes  looking  down 
or  turned  away,  it  would  not  have  been  so  awk- 
ward for  me ;  but  her  brother  wished  the  eyes  of 
the  picture  to  "  look  at  you."  To  do  this  I  must, 
when  painting  those  beautiful  orbs,  ask  her  to  look 
toward  me.  But  alas!  when  she  did  so,  —  and  I 
must  say  she  did  it  well  and  piercingly,  —  my  eyes 
would  instantly  drop  to  my  picture ;  nor  could  I 
raise  them  again  higher  than  her  mouth,  till  a 
hasty  glance  told  me  she  was  no  longer  piercing 
me.  The  consequence  was,  the  mouth  was  like, 
but  the  "  look  at  you "  very  indefinite.  But  it 
must  be  remembered  that  I  was  young,  and  the 
lady  very  beautiful. 

The  most  important  circumstance  to  me  con- 
nected with  this,  my  first  commission,  is  to  be 
related.  When  the  miniature  was  finished,  the 
brother  did  not  find  much  fault  with  it,  but  was 
not  particularly  enthusiastic.  He  probably  thought 
of  the  small  price  and  my  humble  studio.  At  any 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  73 

rate,  he  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  tendered  me 
a  ten-dollar  bill  to  change,  as  the  smallest  he  had. 
Of  course,  I  could  not,  but  took  it  down  to  the 
street  to  get  it  changed.  Unfortunately  it  hap- 
pened to  be  a  New  York  bill,  which  at  that  time 
was  at  a  slight  discount;  each  State  issuing  its 
own  bills,  the  people  preferring  them  to  those  of 
any  other.  I  could  not  get  my  bill  changed,  and 
had  to  return  it  to  the  gentleman,  who  replaced 
it  in  his  pocket,  saying  he  would  call  again  for  the 
picture,  and  departed.  After  he  had  gone,  I  sat 
down  with  the  miniature  in  my  hand  and  a  great 
weight  upon  my  heart.  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
I  should  never  see  the  gentleman  again ;  and  as  I 
looked  at  my  work,  I  could  not  blame  him  if  he 
never  returned  for  it.  The  best  thing  about  it,  as 
I  remember  it,  was  the  green  silk  dress,  which  I 
had  been  able  to  study  without  embarrassment. 
Nevertheless,  I  keenly  felt  my  disappointment,  as 
I  had  been  depending  upon  that  three  dollars  to 
make  up  my  first  month's  rent.  But  next  morn- 
ing my  hopes  brightened,  my  spirits  rose  again  to 
par  upon  entering  my  studio  ;  for  there  upon  the 
floor,  smiling  up  at  me,  was  the  ten-dollar  bill,  which 
I  supposed  the  owner  had  inadvertently  dropped 
in  returning  it  to  his  pocket.  "  Now,"  I  thought, 
"he  will  miss  his  money  and  come  back  for  the 
picture."  But  he  did  not  come,  and  I  preserved 


74  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

that  precious  bill  two  or  three  months,  not  daring 
to  spend  it.  One  day  I  left  my  studio  for  an  hour 
in  charge  of  an  artist  friend ;  when  I  returned  he 
informed  me  that  a  gentleman  called  in  my  ab- 
sence to  look  at  the  picture  of  the  lady  in  a 
green  dress;  saying,  after  looking  at  it,  that  he 
would  call  again.  I  asked  if  he  had  mentioned 
money  in  any  way.  "  No,  he  said  nothing  about 
money."  After  keeping  the  bill  awhile  longer, 
I  ventured  to  spend  it.  I  have  never  seen  or  heard 
of  that  blessed  brother  and  sister  from  that  day  to 
this.  I  have  often  thought  the  dropping  of  that 
bill  was  not  an  accident,  but  one  of  those  lifts  over 
stony  places  that  have  so  frequently  occurred  to 
me  in  my  struggles,  —  what  we  are  so  apt  lightly 
and  thoughtlessly  to  call  Godsends,  but  which  I 
firmly  and  reverently  believe  to  have  been  literally 
Godsends  to  me. 

Behold  how  many  words  I  have  expended  in 
telling  this  simple  story  of  a  ten-dollar  bill  and  a 
three-dollar  picture !  It  only  goes  to  show  how 
immense  was  the  importance  of  the  former  to  me 
at  that  time,  and  how  small  the  intrinsic  value  of 
the  latter. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  FEW  days  before  my  friend  departed  on  his 
artistic  tour  in  the  country,  his  successor  appeared 
to  take  charge  of  the  Museum,  in  the  person  of 
a  handsome,  rosy-cheeked,  rather  refined-looking 
young  man,  whom  the  Squire  had  sent  down  from 
his  own  town,  Hubbardston,  thinking  —  and  with 
reason  —  that  it  would  be  safer  to  trust  his  prop- 
erty with  some  one  he  had  known  all  his  life  than 
with  a  stranger.  He  and  I  became  very  good 
friends,  especially  after  he  had  seen  my  sister  Mary, 
a  couple  of  years  older  than  I,  who  called  one  day 
to  see  me,  —  or  perhaps  from  curiosity  to  see  the  new 
young  man,  which  was  not  at  all  unlikely  after  the 
glowing  description  I  had  given  of  him  at  home. 
At  any  rate,  they  were  mutually  "  struck  "  with 
love  at  sight,  and  shortly  became  engaged  and 
married.  A  truer  and  happier  couple  I  never 
knew  than  they  were  during  his  short  life.  He 
died,  poor  fellow !  about  six  years  after,  leaving  a 
daughter  and  two  sons,  the  younger  of  whom 
followed  him  a  year  or  two  later.  The  other  son 


76  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

has  lived  to  become  as  noble  and  honorable  a  man 
as  his  father. 

During  the  engagement  of  the  young  couple  a 
rather  amusing  incident  happened,  which  I  will 
relate  in  as  few  words  as  possible. 

This  new  superintendent  —  Charles  Grimes  — 
had  fitted  up  for  himself  a  small  lodging-room  in 
the  Museum,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  departing  in 
the  middle  of  the  evening  to  spend  an  hour  or  two 
with  his  lady-love  in  Leverett  Street,  where  my 
mother  lived,  leaving  me  to  close  the  Museum  at 
the  end  of  the  evening,  and  bring  him  the  key, 
sometimes  meeting  him  on  his  way  back.  One 
evening,  as  I  was  walking  home  through  Green 
Street,  toward  eleven  o'clock,  with  the  big  key  in 
my  hand,  I  saw  him  approaching  with  his  familiar 
long  cloak  held  up  to  his  face,  hiding  all  but  his 
eyes.  As  he  came  up  to  me,  I  suddenly  stepped  in 
front  of  him,  and  with  the  most  dramatic  voice  and 
attitude  I  could  command,  presented  the  key,  pistol 
fashion,  and  demanded  his  money  or  his  life.  He 
started  back,  dropping  his  cloak,  and  —  oh,  horror!  — 
revealed  the  face  of  a  perfect  stranger.  I  did  not 
stop  to  argue  with  him,  but  cut  home  as  if  the  very 
Evil  One  were  after  me.  There  I  found  the  real 
Charles  Grimes,  who  asked  me,  in  alarm,  what  was 
the  matter,  —  if  I  had  seen  a  ghost.  "  No,"  I  an- 
swered, "  only  a  stranger."  For  a  long  time  after 


MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  77 

this  I  was  in  constant  fear  whenever  I  ventured 
into  the  street,  of  meeting  my  victim,  and  being 
recognized  as  the  young  ruffian  who  had  attempted 
to  rob  and  perhaps  murder  him.  I  don't  think  I 
have  thoroughly  enjoyed  a  practical  joke  since. 

It  had  been  whispered  about  for  some  time  that 
Squire  Greenwood  would  like  to  retire  from  the 
proprietorship  of  the  Museum  if  he  could  find  any 
one  to  buy  it  outright.  It  came  to  the  ears  of 
John  Harrington,  the  celebrated  ventriloquist  and 
magician,  who  had  frequently  played  short  engage- 
ments at  this  establishment  and  had  decided  that 
it  would  be  a  good  investment  to  buy  it.  To 
secure  the  property,  as  he  thought,  he  took  an 
indefinite  lease  of  it,  intending  to  close  the  bargain 
of  sale  when  he  could  no  longer  hire  it.  Consider- 
ing himself  now  the  proprietor,  he  fitted  up  a  little 
stage  for  his  own  and  similar  performances.  My 
blind  friend  and  myself  were  informed  that  we 
were  to  continue  to  make  the  music  evenings,  and 
to  look  to  him  for  our  pay.  This  went  on  very 
pleasantly  and  profitably  for  him  but  a  short  time, 
when  one  day  he  came  to  us,  looking  very  pale  and 
excited,  to  tell  us  that  he  was  "  no  longer  our 
master ; "  that  Mr.  Moses  Kimball  had  actually 
bought  the  whole  collection,  to  take  possession  at 
once.  The  next  day  Mr.  Kimball  appeared,  and 
told  us  very  pleasantly  that  he  hoped  it  would 


78  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

make  no  difference  to  us.  I,  for  one,  was  pleased, 
and  sympathized  with  him,  as  I  was  told  he  had 
been  unfortunate  in  his  former  business ;  and  I 
hoped  he  would  succeed  in  this  new  venture.  But 
his  trouble  was  to  begin  immediately.  Mr.  Har- 
rington went  at  once  to  the  owners  of  the  building, 
and  finding  that  it  was  free  from  any  lease,  took 
one,  I  think  for  five  years,  and  immediately  set 
about  making  a  collection  of  his  own ;  buying  out 
one  or  two  small  museums  and  bringing  them 
together,  I  remember,  in  a  big  loft  on  Hanover 
Street  When  all  was  ready  he  sprang  the  mine 
on  Mr.  Kimball  in  the  shape  of  a  legal  warning 
for  him  to  take  his  goods  and  chattels  out  with  the 
shortest  possible  delay. 

This  was  a  terrible  blow  to  poor  Mr.  Kimball. 
I  think  he  was  more  shocked  and  grieved  by  this 
unexpected  countermine  than  Harrington  had  been ; 
for  the  latter  was  no  worse  off  when  turned  out  than 
he  was  before  he  entered.  But  what  was  Mr. 
Kimball  to  do  with  all  these  cart-loads  of  articles 
on  his  shoulders,  —  articles  ranging  from  a  stuffed 
elephant  down  to  a  butterfly,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  hundreds  of  wax-figures,  paintings,  glass  cases, 
etc.?  Where  was  he  to  look  for  a  place  to  store 
such  a  quantity  of  stuff  at  so  short  a  notice  ?  He 
soon  rallied,  however,  and  found  the  old  Bromfield 
Hall  and  some  other  empty  rooms  on  Tremont 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  79 

Street,  where  he  managed  to  pack  away  in  a  solid 
mass  this  immense  collection,  until  the  old  Horti- 
cultural Building  could  be  remodelled  to  receive 
and  exhibit  them  properly. 

Since  that  first  opening  day  Mr.  Kimball's  march 
has  been  onward  and  upward  without  interruption. 
All  through  the  museum  war,  my  friend  and  I 
pursued  the  even  tenor  of  our  way  until  both 
museums  were  opened,  when  we  were  invited  to 
choose  which  we  would  serve,  and  soon  decided  to 
follow  the  fortunes  of  the  old  original  "  New 
England,"  under  a  new  name,  — "  The  Boston 
Museum."  And  a  good  thing  it  was  for  me ;  for 
from  that  small  beginning  Mr.  Kimball  became 
my  life-long  friend,  interesting  himself  in  my  Art- 
struggles,  and  aiding  me  from  time  to  time  by 
giving  me  small  commissions  while  I  was  a 
painter,  and  when  fortune  had  smiled  on  us  both, 
and  I  had  acquired  the  ability  to  make,  and  he  the 
means  to  pay  for  it,  giving  me  the  munificent  com- 
mission for  the  colossal  bronze  group,  "  Emancipa- 
tion," which  he  presented  to  the  city  of  Boston. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BUT  to  return  to  the  days  of  small  things. 

I  continued  to  paint  miniatures  when  I  could  get 
them  to  do,  as  long  as  I  occupied  my  first  studio, 
which  I  was  obliged  to  leave  at  the  end  of  the 
year,  on  account  of  changes  to  be  made  in  the 
building.  I  applied  in  turn  for  two  or  three  rooms 
without  success.  The  landlords  were  suspicious  of 
artists,  young  ones  in  particular,  and  insisted  on  a 
quarter's  rent  in  advance,  which,  of  course,  was 
impossible  for  me.  I  finally  found  a  room  oppo- 
site the  head  of  Hanover  Street.  I  had  heard  that 
the  landlord  was  a  very  hard  and  close  man  to 
deal  with,  and  hardly  dared  to  approach  him ;  but 
thinking  he  could  not  be  worse  than  the  rest,  I 
called  on  him,  and  learned  that  the  price  of  the 
room  was  one  hundred  dollars  a  year.  I  asked, 
falteringly,  if  I  could  have  it  for  a  studio. 

He  looked  at  me  sharply  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
answered, "  Oh,  yes." 

"  Must  I  pay  the  rent  in  advance  ? "  was  my 
next  question. 

"What  for?"  said  he. 


MY  THKEESCORE  YEAKS  AND   TEN.  81 

"That  you  may  be  sure  of  it." 

"  If  I  were  not  sure  of  it  when  due,  I  would  not 
let  it  to  you.  I  think  you  will  pay.  You  can 
come  in  as  soon  as  you  please." 

I  moved  in  at  once,  resolved  that  I  would  go 
hungry  before  I  would  fail  to  pay  my  rent. 

Here  I  painted  my  first  life-size  portraits,  —  I 
didn't  count  those  two  five-dollar  ones  that  I 
lumped  with  the  family ;  you  would  not,  if  you 
could  see  them.  One,  the  portrait  of  my  mother, 
made  quite  a  sensation  when  seen  at  the  Exhibi- 
tion of  the  Mechanics'  Association,  and  gained  for 
me  the  first  medal,  for  "  The  best  Portrait ; "  and, 
let  me  tell  you,  it  was  not  the  only  one  there, 
but  one  of  many  by  some  of  the  best  Boston  ar- 
tists. The  hands  of  this  portrait  were  particularly 
praised  ;  and  to  this  day  artists  on  looking  at  it  in- 
variably express  their  surprise  that  I  should  have 
given  up  painting.  I  don't  know  whether  it  was 
a  bit  of  inspiration  derived  from  the  subject  or 
purely  accidental ;  but  this  I  do  know,  that  it  was 
a  long  time  before  I  could  approach  it  again.  It 
brought  me  in  no  new  orders  for  life-size  portraits, 
although  my  miniature  business  increased  so  that  I 
was  obliged  to  raise  my  price  to  five  dollars. 

Oh !  I  came  near  forgetting  to  mention  my  first 
ideal  picture,  which  was  painted  in  this  room,  and 
a  brief  account  of  which  may  be  found  to  possess 

6 


82  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

some  amusing  points  at  this  time.  All  the  other 
rooms  in  the  building  were  represented  by  big  signs 
on  the  front ;  mine  alone  presented  a  very  inviting 
space  under  the  window,  which  my  friends  advised 
me  to  fill.  Now,  I  would  not  have  put  my  name 
out  for  a  small  fortune.  But  there  was  my  mod- 
est little  anonymous  device  "  Miniature  painting," 
which  might  be  enlarged  to  colossal  dimensions,  to 
be  read  half-way  down  Hanover  Street,  and  as 
no  one  would  recognize  me  on  the  street  as  the 
owner  of  it,  might  perhaps  do  me  no  harm.  I 
applied  to  a  queer  old  sign-painter  upstairs ;  but 
finding  that  it  would  cost  more  than  I  could  afford, 
the  old  fellow  suggested  that  I  should  paint  a  pic- 
ture on  each  side  of  a  swing  sign  that  he  had  an 
order  to  paint  for  a  fishmonger,  but  which  he 
hardly  felt  competent  to  do  himself,  and  he  would 
paint  over  an  old  sign  which  he  happened  to  have 
—  making  it  as  good  as  new  —  with  my  device. 
This  I  at  once  agreed  to.  On  one  side  I  was  to 
paint  a  codfish  as  large  as  life,  for  which  he  would 
furnish  the  model.  His  idea  for  the  other  side 
was  to  represent  a  thrilling  scene  of  a  horror- 
stricken  negro  in  a  boat,  being  run  away  with  by  a 
big  fish  he  had  hooked.  The  codfish  was  satisfac- 
torily painted,  and  the  catastrophe  on  the  other 
side  —  my  first  ideal  picture  —  sketched  in,  when 
the  old  fellow  observing  that  the  monster  fish  occu- 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN.  83 

pied  in  the  picture  about  the  space  that  a  small 
mackerel  would  fill,  measured  it  with  his  eye,  went 
away  and  returned  triumphantly  bearing  a  mack- 
erel of  the  right  dimensions,  to  be  copied  as  care- 
fully as  I  had  done  the  codfish.  As  long  as  he  did 
not  see  the  incongruity  of  it,  why  should  I  try  to 
shirk  the  labor  ?  The  picture  went  out  represent- 
ing the  strongest  mackerel  on  record.  Years  af- 
terward I  tried  in  vain  to  trace  this  sign.  I 
would  give  a  good  deal  for  it  now. 

One  day  a  sea-captain,  attracted  by  my  little 
show-case  below,  came  up  with  his  friend  the  mate, 
to  know  how  much  I  would  charge  to  paint  "  a  lit- 
tle small "  picture  of  him.  I  told  him  my  price 
was  five  dollars.  "  Five  dollars !  "  he  exclaimed,  in 
astonishment  at  that  exorbitant  price.  "  Why,  I 
can  get  a  banner  painted  for  that."  His  friend, 
with  a  little  more  delicacy,  began  to  say  he  did  not 
think  there  would  be  time  enougli  to  sit  then. 

"Oh,  I've  got  time  enough,"  interrupted  the 
old  bear ;  "  but — five  dollars  ! "  Before  going  out, 
he  picked  up  from  the  table  one  of  my  largest  and 
best  pictures,  and  carelessly  dropped  it  on  the  floor, 
splitting  the  ivory  from  top  to  bottom.  His  mate, 
who  was  really  ashamed  of  him,  hustled  him  out 
of  the  room  before  he  could  do  any  more  dam- 
age. This  I  put  down  as  one  of  my  unlucky  days. 
It  was  not  Friday,  either !  Let  me  here  remark 


84  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

that  if  I  were  inclined  to  be  superstitious  I  should 
put  down  Friday  as  my  lucky  day.  Many  of  my 
most  successful  works  have  been  begun  on  that 
much-abused  day,  and  without  the  slightest  pre- 
meditation on  my  part. 

The  miniature  part  of  my  business  was  now  go- 
ing on  prosperously,  but  not  yet  the  first  order  for 
a  life-size  portrait.  So,  in  order  to  get  any  practice 
in  that  branch,  I  had  to  depend  upon  the  members 
of  my  family  and  such  outside  friends  as  were  will- 
ing to  sacrifice  their  time  to  my  doubtful  efforts. 
The  kindest  and  most  patient  of  the  latter  was  my 
dear  old  friend  Rev.  Dr.  Nathaniel  Frothingham, 
at  whose  church  I  was  at  that  time  singing.  Talk- 
ing of  singing  reminds  me  that  it  is  time  for  me 
to  pick  up  and  pursue  for  a  little  while  the  other 
movement  in  my  Fugue. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

I  HAD  recently,  by  invitation,  become  a  member 
of  the  Handel  and  Haydn  Society,  who  were  then 
giving  their  Sunday-evening  concerts  in  the  old 
Boylston  Hall.  Among  the  soloists  I  remember 
Mr.  Ephraim  Froth ingh am,  in  his  role  of  the  angel 
Raphael  in  Haydn's  "  Creation."  There  was  Sam 
Richardson,  the  jolly  giant,  whose  voice  as  well 
as  his  bulky  person  was  so  effective  in  the  part 
of  Goliath,  in  the  oratorio  of  "  David."  The  next 
season  I  was  invited,  and  consented  to  take  the 
part  of  Adam,  in  the  "  Creation."  Being  my  first 
appearance  as  a  soloist,  I  was  of  course  almost 
frightened  to  death,  and  I  fear  would  have  made 
a  fiasco,  had  it  not  been  for  the  encouragement  of 
my  companion,  Eve  (Miss  Anna  Stone),  whose 
wonderful  confidence  and  self-sustaining  power 
made  me  ashamed  to  break  down. 

All  this,  it  will  be  said,  must  have  interfered 
with  and  taken  my  time  from  the  study  of  my 
legitimate  profession.  Perhaps  it  did  a  little  ;  but 
I  could  no  more  have  kept  out  of  it  than  have  fol- 
lowed it  to  the  abandonment  of  Art.  Besides,  most 


86  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

of  my  musical  practice  and  study  of  my  parts  was 
done  in  the  evening,  after  the  labors  of  the  day 
were  over ;  for  I  looked  upon  music  as  almost  my 
only  recreation. 

I  had  now  moved  my  studio  into  the  spacious 
old  garret  in  Tremont  Row,  where  for  the  next 
twelve  years  I  labored,  studied,  played,  slept,  and 
sometimes  took  my  frugal  meals.  Here,  far  up 
above  the  noisy  crowd,  most  of  the  time  the  sole 
occupant  of  the  building  from  sunset  to  sunrise, 
I  could  yell  and  bellow  to  my  heart's  content,  with 
no  fear  of  disturbing  anybody,  —  which  fear  has 
been  the  bugbear  of  my  life  ever  since  I  left  the 
dear  old  den.  While  there,  no  fear  of  any  kind 
ever  entered  my  head,  notwithstanding  an  occur- 
rence that  my  friends  thought  should  have  awak- 
ened any  less  stupid  head  than  mine  to  a  sense 
of  danger. 

The  street  door  to  the  building  was  very  seldom 
locked.  I  don't  remember  ever  locking  it  myself, 
although  the  Suffolk  Savings  Bank  occupied  the 
whole  of  the  first  floor  above  the  street.  One 
would  suppose  that  they  would  have  insisted  on 
having  this  lower  door  fastened.  Perhaps  know- 
ing that  I  slept  in  the  building  alone,  they  took  it 
for  granted  that  I  would  for  my  own  safety  see  to 
that.  But  they  did  not  know  what  a  careless  fel- 
low I  was  in  that  respect.  In  fact,  I  have  never 


MY  THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN.  87 

yet  learned  to  lock  my  doors  at  night  against  dis- 
honest people.  The  honest  are  the  ones  I  have 
been  compelled  to  remember  to  lock  out  in  broad 
daylight,  or  I  should  not  have  accomplished  one 
half  that  I  have. 

As  I  was  about  to  say,  one  morning  I  was  de- 
scending from  my  attic  to  go  out  for  my  coffee, 
when  I  was  confronted  at  the  door  of  the  bank 
by  the  naturally  melancholy  face  and  stern,  pier- 
cing eyes  of  the  cashier, —  eyes  that  seemed  endeav- 
oring to  bore  through  mine  to  the  very  back  of  my 
head.  They  rather  fascinated  me.  I  smiled  before 
he  began  to  speak;  but  when  in  his  slow  sepul- 
chral tones  he  murmured,  "Do  you  know  —  sir  — 
that  the  bank  —  was  entered  —  and  —  robbed  last 
night?"  it  occurred  to  me  then  that  he  was 
searching  me.  It  seemed  to  me  so  very  ludicrous 
that  I  could  not  refrain  from  laughing  outright. 
Shocked  at  my  levity,  he  looked  at  me  more  sternly 
than  ever,  if  that  were  possible,  and  remarked  that 
he  thought  it  no  laughing  matter.  By  that  time 
I  began  to  think  so  too,  and  asked  him,  with  a 
straighter  face,  if  he  thought  I  had  robbed  the 
bank.  He  answered,  without  committing  himself, 
"  I  was  about  to  ask  —  if  you  —  heard  —  any  noise 
in  —  the  night."  I  told  him  I  had  not ;  apologized 
for  having  laughed  at  his  perplexities,  and  went  on 
my  way  to  breakfast.  I  don't  think  he  could  have 


88  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND    TEN. 

heard  of  my  youthful  attempt  at  highway  robbery, 
or  I  should  not  have  gotten  off  so  easily. 

It  seemed  that  the  bank  had  really  been  entered 
some  time  during  the  night  with  false  keys, 
and  an  insignificant  amount  of  money  stolen. 
It  was  strongly  suspected  that  some  one  in  the 
employ  of  an  old  locksmith  who  occupied  a  room 
in  the  old  building  opposite  —  where  the  Boston 
Museum  now  stands  —  and  had  made  the  bank- 
locks,  was  the  guilty  one.  Nothing,  however, 
was  done  about  it  but  to  replace  the  lock  by  a 
stronger  one. 

Just  then  I  had  a  show-room  on  the  second  floor, 
over  the  bank,  and  under  my  studio-attic.  Not 
long  after  the  above  incident,  I  found  on  descend- 
ing one  morning  that  the  mysterious  robber  had 
been  paying  me  a  visit  during  the  night ;  doing  no 
damage  or  mischief  whatever,  only  strewing  the 
floor  with  the  miscellaneous  contents  of  a  table- 
drawer,  but  carrying  away  nothing.  I  think  quite 
likely,  though  nothing  was  said  to  me  about  it, 
that  after  this  a  spy  was  set  to  watch  the  lock- 
smith opposite  —  and  me,  for  aught  I  ever  knew  to 
the  contrary ;  for  soon  after,  a  very  amiable  and 
ingenious  young  friend  of  mine  —  apprentice  to  the 
locksmith  —  was  detected  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
hiding  in  the  upper  story  of  an  extensive  shop  on 
Cornhill,  kept  by  an  old  German,  named  Cramer, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  89 

a  well-known  importer  of  musical  clocks,  mechani- 
cal toys,  and  many  other  ingenious  contrivances. 
This  young  man  was  generally  esteemed,  and  es- 
pecially so  by  his  master  for  his  industry  and  cun- 
ning ingenuity,  but  thought  to  be  half  cracked  on 
the  subject  of  perpetual  motion ;  so  that  the  story 
he  told  at  his  examination  —  that  his  nocturnal 
visit  to  the  toy-shop  was  prompted  solely  by  an 
irresistible  desire  to  examine  a  new  piece  of  me- 
chanism recently  imported  by  the  German,  who 
had  refused  to  let  him  look  at  it  —  was  generally 
believed,  and  he  was  let  off. 

One  would  think  that  after  the  above  experience 
my  rest  would  have  been  troubled  by  fears.  Not 
at  all !  I  slept  as  tranquilly  as  ever.  Was  it  the 
sleep  of  the  innocent  or  of  the  stupid?  It  must 
have  been  one  or  the  other. 

I  will  only  relate  one  more  mysterious  entrance 
into  my  studio,  and  this  exclusively  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  little  folks.  A  word  of  description  is 
necessary. 

Besides  the  window  cut  in  the  side  of  the  roof 
for  me  to  paint  by,  there  was  the  original  one  high 
up  in  the  middle  for  ventilation.  This  was  reached 
by  a  ladder,  left  standing  in  summer  for  conven- 
ience. One  morning  on  entering  after  breakfast 
I  was  surprised  and  puzzled  to  discover  half-a- 
dozen  of  the  little  pill-boxes  containing  my  choice 


90  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND  TEN. 

dry  color  opened,  and  one  or  two  of  them  upset, 
my  palette  streaked  in  every  direction,  the  paint 
dragged  over  it  as  by  the  fingers  of  a  child,  and 
various  other  indications  of  a  "  good  time  "  having 
come  off  during  my  absence.  Knowing  that  I  had 
not  left  those  little  boxes  open,  and  that  my  little 
friends  the  mice  could  not  have  done  it,  my  next 
thought  was  of  the  spirits,  who  were  just  then  be- 
coming popular.  But  I  decided  to  wait  and  watch. 
The  next  morning  on  going  out,  I  cast  my  eye  over 
the  table  and  saw  that  all  was  in  order.  On  my 
return,  what  was  my  disgust  and  indignation  to 
find  everything  upset  as  before.  The  following 
morning,  after  a  shorter  absence  than  usual,  I 
approached  the  door  silently,  and  opening  it  sud- 
denly, heard  a  scuttling  and  saw  at  a  glance  the 
rascal  half-way  up  the  ladder ;  and  before  I  could 
get  to  him  he  had  seated  himself  on  the  sill  of  the 
window,  and  with  the  impertinence  of  most  boys 
when  they  know  they  are  spryer  than  their  pur- 
suer, turned  and  grinned  at  me,  bade  me  good- 
morning,  and  I  never  saw  him  afterward.  I  had 
not  heard  that  one  of  my  neighbors  owned  a  pet 
monkey  who  generally  took  his  airing  about  that 
time  in  the  morning,  or  I  might  have  guessed  the 
truth  before. 

I  had  now  fairly  established  myself  as  a  portrait- 
painter, —  actually  put  my  name  on  a  small  tin  sign 


MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  91 

at  the  door,  only  occasionally  painting  a  minia- 
ture. I  well  remember  almost  the  last  one  I 
painted.  It  was  while  I  was  still  wrestling  with 
the  difficulties  of  life-size  work. 

A  lady  whom  I  slightly  knew,  called  at  my  stu- 
dio one  day,  introducing  a  beautiful  elderly  lady  as 
Mrs.  Shaw,  wife  of  Chief-Justice  Shaw.  Smiling 
sweetly  on  me,  this  lady  asked  me  if  I  could  keep  a 
secret.  I  told  her  I  could  if  necessary.  She  then 
went  on  to  say  that  she  had  conceived  the  idea  of 
having  me  paint  her  miniature,  to  be  carefully  put 
away  where  it  would  be  found  after  she  was  dead, 
—  a  pleasant  surprise  to  her  children.  I  promised 
to  comply  with  her  request,  and  have  kept  her 
secret  until  it  can  now  be  no  longer  one ;  as  the 
dear  lady  has  long  since  passed  away. 

When  the  picture  was  finished,  —  which,  as  I  re- 
member it,  was  one  of  my  best,  —  she  expressed 
herself  perfectly  satisfied  with  it,  and  handed  me  a 
twenty-dollar  gold  piece.  Upon  my  tendering  her 
ten  dollars  in  exchange,  she  pretended  surprise, 
saying  she  understood  my  price  was  twenty  dollars. 
At  any  rate,  she  had  expected  to  pay  that,  and 
would  not  think  of  giving  me  any  less  for  my 
work.  What  could  I  do  ?  Feeling  confident  that 
it  was  only  her  kind  heart  that  prompted  her  to 
double  the  price  of  my  picture,  and  that  it  would 
have  grieved  her  if  I  persisted  in  refusing,  I  ac- 


92  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

cepted  it  almost  with  tears  in  my  eyes.  She  then 
presented  me  with  a  little  gilt-edged  religious  book, 
—  showing  that  my  spiritual  welfare  was  not  ab- 
sent from  her  thoughts,  —  and  wishing  me  all  suc- 
cess in  life,  departed. 

Not  long  after  this  I  had  the  honor  of  painting  a 
half-length  life-size  portrait  of  the  Massachusetts 
Attorney-General,  Samuel  D.  Parker, — a  gentleman 
who,  while  he  was  the  terror  of  the  criminal  por- 
tion of  the  community,  was  honored  and  respected 
by  all  lovers  of  law  and  order.  Outside  of  the  law- 
courts  he  was  the  most  genial  and  entertaining 
man  I  ever  met.  His  strong  and  regular  features 
and  fine  expression  made  him  a  very  desirable 
subject  for  painting.  But  I  shall  never  forget  the 
intense  mortification  I  felt  when,  on  leaving  at  the 
end  of  the  last  sitting,  he  took  my  hand,  and  in  his 
most  courtly  voice  and  manner  thanked  me  for  the 
very  pleasant  hours  I  had  afforded  him  by  my 
entertaining  conversation.  The  blood  rushed  to  my 
face  at  the  consciousness  of  having  hardly  uttered 
a  word  during  the  dozen  or  more  sittings.  His 
speech  seemed  to  me  for  a  moment  to  be  inten- 
tional irony  ;  but  the  next,  I  felt  sure  that  he  was 
too  perfect  a  gentleman  to  indulge  in  anything  of 
the  kind  under  the  circumstances.  I  could  only 
conclude  that  either  I  had  been  more  entertaining 
than  in  my  obliviousness  I  had  been  aware  of,  or  — 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  93 

as  was  most  probable  —  he,  being  so  good  a  talker, 
and  I  such  a  capital  listener,  really  thought  that 
I  had  sustained  my  full  half  of  the  conversation. 

This  portrait  was  as  good  and  satisfactory  a 
likeness  as  I  generally  succeeded  in  making ;  but  it 
was  painted  in  a  rather  loose  manner,  which  I  at 
that  time  affected  in  imitation  of  Alexander's  bold 
touch,  —  a  style  which  I  materially  modified,  after 
a  critic  in  speaking  of  my  portrait  of  Sinclair 
called  it  a  good  likeness,  but  slobberingly  painted. 
"  Slobberingly  "  was  a  good  word.  I  saw  at  once 
that  in  my  admiration  for  Stuart  and  Alexander  I 
had  failed  to  go  deeper  than  the  surface.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  at  that  time  there  were  no 
schools  or  academies  where  the  student  could  learn 
the  technique  of  his  art;  but  each  was  obliged  to 
dig  one  out  for  himself,  taking  the  works  of  those 
more  fortunate  artists  who  had  studied  abroad,  for 
his  models.  The  consequence  was  in  my  case  that 
each  picture  was  a  new  experiment.  Oh,  how  dear 
old  George  Fuller  and  I  used  to  labor  in  those 
days,  —  arguing,  comparing,  painting  in,  and  scrap- 
ing out,  while  we  wrestled  with  color;  appreciating 
and  feeling  in  our  hearts  and  all  through  us  what 
we  wanted  to  do ;  sometimes  catching  a  sunny 
glimpse  of  it  on  our  canvas,  only  to  see  a  cloud 
come  over  it,  bearing  our  very  souls  down  to  the 
dust!  He,  dear  fellow!  persevered  till  he  finally 


94  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

acquired  for  himself  that  mysteriously  beautiful 
technique  which  so  enchanted  us,  and  enchants 
us  still ;  while  I,  after  a  few  years'  groping  and 
stumbling  after  the  phantom,  color,  —  trying  a 
new  path  with  each  new  picture,  often  with  a 
bright  glimpse  of  success  which  ought  to  have 
warned  me  not  to  abandon  that  path  for  one 
apparently  shorter  or  more  pleasant,  —  gave  it  up 
in  despair. 

Some  time  before  this  I  became  acquainted  with 
Mrs.  William  B.  Richards, —  Miss  Cornelia  Walter 
at  that  time,  —  under  circumstances  that  would 
seem  to  refute  all  my  previous  claims  to  diffidence 
or  modesty. 

She  was  the  editor  of  the  "  Boston  Evening  Tran- 
script." But  when  she  was  a  girl,  —  she  was  but 
little  more  than  a  girl  at  this  time,  —  before  she 
came  so  prominently  before  the  public,  before  I 
even  knew  who  she  was,  I  used  to  look  at  her  in 
the  street,  fascinated  by  her  lovely  color  and 
stately  figure,  thinking,  "  If  I  could  only  have  her 
for  a  sitter,  I  know  I  could  make  a  picture  such 
as  I  never  made  before."  And  when  I  learned 
who  she  was,  that  she  was  the  sister  and  successor 
of  the  late  Lynde  M.  Walter  of  the  "  Transcript,"  I 
plucked  up  all  the  courage  I  possessed,  and  one 
day  called  on  her  at  her  house  in  Joy  Street. 

Sending  in  my  name,  I  was  ushered  into  the 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN.  95 

drawing-room,  where  in  a  few  moments  she  joined 
me,  looking  more  lovely  than  ever  as  she  walked 
into  the  room.  I  had  never  seen  her  without  her 
hat  before ;  and  the  blond  hair,  together  with  her 
sunny  smile,  was  a  new  revelation  that  nearly 
upset  me.  However,  I  managed  to  introduce  my- 
self as  a  young  artist  desirous  of  painting  her 
portrait. 

"  But,  don't  you  know,"  said  she,  "  if  I  should 
sit  to  you,  I  could  not  write  about  you,  because  it 
would  look  as  if  I  were  calling  public  attention  to 
my  own  picture." 

"  Oh/'  I  answered,  "  I  would  much  rather  you 
would  sit  to  me  than  write  about  me." 

The  moment  the  words  were  uttered,  I  felt  that 
if  color  were  my  object,  I  had  only  to  look  in  the 
glass ;  for  I  realized  that  I  had  unwittingly  re- 
flected upon  her  writing.  But  she  quickly  came 
to  my  relief  with  that  merry  laugh  of  hers  that 
no  one  who  ever  knew  her  can  forget. 

"  Well,  I  will  not  promise  to  sit  to  you,  but  I 
will  visit  your  studio  very  soon." 

She  came  the  next  day,  and  when  I  ventured 
again  to  ask  her  to  sit  to  me,  kindly  consented,  if 
a  miniature  would  content  me,  as  she  dreaded  to 
see  herself  the  size  of  life.  She  evidently  preferred 
my  small  pictures.  Of  course  I  was  grateful  for  so 
much,  thinking  that  perhaps  the  large  one  would 


96  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

follow.  Well,  this  picture  was  finished,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  say  was  rather  a  failure ;  at  least  it 
seemed  so  to  me  after  the  great  things  I  had 
promised  myself.  I  had  resolved  to  make  the 
most  of  her  concession  by  selecting  my  very  largest 
ivory  tablet,  and  painting  her  two-thirds  length. 
She  was  one  of  the  most  pleasant  and  patient 
sitters  imaginable, —  if  you  can  call  it  sitting  when 
she  was  on  her  feet,  poor  thing !  all  those  long 
hours;  for  it  was  a  standing  position.  I  hinted 
from  time  to  time  my  conviction  that  I  could  do 
her  and  myself  more  justice  if  she  would  consent 
to  sit  for  a  life-size  picture.  This,  with  the  ami- 
ability of  an  angel,  she  agreed  to  do,  providing  she 
were  allowed  in  reality  to  sit. 

This  picture  —  also  two-thirds  length,  the  favo- 
rite Copley  size  —  was  finished  more  successfully 
than  the  small  one,  and  formed  a  very  attractive 
feature  in  my  studio  till  not  long  afterward  she 
married,  when  it  naturally  went  into  the  possession 
of  her  husband,  Mr.  William  B.  Richards,  and  was 
transferred  to  the  walls  of  their  drawing-room. 

The  after-history  of  this  picture  was  so  peculiar 
that  I  may  venture  to  relate  it.  More  than  a  year 
after  it  left  my  studio  I  received  a  note  from  an 
Englishman  by  the  name  of  Howarth,  —  very  fa- 
mous at  that  time  for  cleaning  and  restoring  old 
paintings,  —  desiring  me  to  call  at  his  studio  to 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN.  97 

see  a  picture  painted  by  me  that  he  had  recently 
been  restoring.  I  could  not  imagine  what  it 
meant.  I  was  not  an  "  old  master,"  to  be  treated 
in  that  way.  I  took  an  early  opportunity,  how- 
ever, to  call  and  find  out  about  it.  I  was  con- 
ducted into  Mr.  Howarth's  private  studio  and 
seated  at  the  proper  distance  from  a  picture,  which 
upon  being  uncovered  revealed  my  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Richards.  I  thought  it  a  little  singular  that  she 
had  not  called  upon  me  to  varnish  it,  if  indeed  it 
needed  it  at  that  early  day.  I  expressed  as  much 
to  Mr.  Howarth. 

"  Is  that  all  you  see  that  I  have  done  to  it  ?  Go 
a  little  nearer  to  it." 

I  did  so,  failing  to  discover  anything  else.  He 
then  told  me,  with  great  satisfaction,  that  since  I 
had  seen  it  last  the  head  itself  had  been  in  a  dozen 
small  pieces,  and  the  whole  transferred  to  a  new 
canvas,  but  that  Mrs.  Richards  would  tell  me  the 
story.  I  lost  no  time  in  hearing  from  her  the 
mystery.  It  seemed  that  the  picture  had  hung  in 
the  drawing-room  on  the  wall,  directly  opposite  the 
door  leading  into  the  hall.  It  had  been  the  daily 
habit  of  Mr.  Richards  on  his  way  to  the  breakfast- 
room  to  open  this  door,  and  —  like  many  another 
foolish  young  husband  —  bid  good-morning  to  his 
wife's  portrait.  Judge  of  his  horror  upon  opening 
the  door  one  morning  to  find  the  head  missing,  and 

7 


98  .    MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

the  blank  wall  staring  through  the  round  hole  in 
the  canvas.  There,  strewed  about  the  floor,  were 
ten  or  a  dozen  bits  which  when  placed  together 
revealed  the  fact  that  one  important  piece  was 
missing ;  nor  could  it  be  found  after  hunting  high 
and  low.  An  Irish  servant-girl,  who  had  been  ill 
of  brain-fever,  had  stolen  out  of  her  room  in  her 
delirium,  and  with  a  pair  of  scissors  had  effected 
the  mischief,  but  could  never  remember  afterward 
what  she  had  done  with  the  other  piece. 

The  picture  was  taken  down  and,  with  the  small 
pieces,  put  carefully  away,  and  the  whole  thing 
hushed  up,  Mrs.  Richards  not  daring  to  tell  me 
about  it,  hoping  some  time  to  find  the  missing 
piece.  This  hope  was  realized  about  a  year  after- 
ward, when  the  servant  had  left  the  house.  Upon 
clearing  out  a  bureau  in  her  room  the  long-sought- 
for  bit  was  found  outside  and  behind  one  of  the 
drawers.  The  whole  was  then  left  with  Mr. 
Howarth,  with  the  result  above  recorded. 

It  seemed  that  I  was  wise  after  all  to  prefer  that 
she  should  sit  to  me  rather  than  write  about  me. 
It  was  not  only  the  beginning  of  a  long  and  de- 
lightful friendship,  but  was  the  occasion  of  my  re- 
ceiving several  commissions  from  her  family, — her 
mother's  portrait  among  them. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MUCH  of  my  time  was  now  employed  in  making 
sketches  and  studies  for  ideal  compositions.  Many 
of  them  went  no  further,  but  some  were  carried  to 
the  finish.  I  think  the  first  one  was  a  composition 
in  miniature,  painted  on  a  white  porcelain  tablet. 
I  would  here  remark  that  I  never  used  anything 
but  ivory  or  white  porcelain  for  my  miniatures,  — 
it  will  be  remembered  that  they  were  all  painted  in 
oils, —  some  of  which,  not  larger  than  a  good-sized 
pea,  were  painted  for  bracelets  or  breastpins.  For 
these  ivory  presented  the  most  delicate  surface 
possible. 

It  was  my  practice  to  lay  in  my  first  sitting  with 
transparent  water-color.  This  carried  the  picture 
one  stage,  without  disturbing  or  affecting  in  the 
least  the  satin  texture,  which  was  very  important 
in  over-painting  in  oils. 

The  composition  of  which  I  was  about  to  speak 
was  a  "  Holy  Family,"  composed  of  five  full-length 
figures.  Think  of  my  presumption!  But  it  was 
only  another  example  to  prove  that  "  fools  rush 
in  where  angels  fear  to  tread."  I  speak  of  this 


100  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

picture  because  it  was  the  one  I  took  to  Washing- 
ton Allston  for  his  criticism,  the  only  time  I  ever 
saw  the  great  artist  in  his  studio. 

He  was  then  living  at  Cambridge,  where  he  had 
built  a  big  studio  of  wood,  one  story  high,  to  ac- 
commodate his  great  work,  "  Belshazzar's  Feast." 
It  was  said  that  a  friend  calling  one  day  on  the 
artist,  and  receiving  no  response  to  his  repeated 
knocking,  was  told  by  some  boys  playing  near  by 
to  u  throw  some  rocks  upon  the  roof,  and  he  '11 
come  out  fast  enough." 

But  I  had  no  difficulty  in  gaining  admission,  and 
had  a  most  delightful  visit.  He  came  to  the  door 
himself,  —  a  most  ethereal-looking  old  gentleman, 
with  long,  flowing  hair  as  white  as  snow,  and  clean- 
shaven face,  almost  as  white  as  his  hair.  When  I 
told  him  I  was  a  young  artist  he  most  kindly  in- 
vited me  into  his  reception-room,  where  he  talked 
to  me  in  the  most  simple  and  fatherly  way  about 
his  early  Art-struggles.  When  I  uncovered  my 
little  picture  and  begged  him  to  tell  me  if  there 
was  anything  good  in  it,  he  looked  at  it  carefully 
and  said  there  was  much  that  was  good  and  origi- 
nal in  it.  He  criticised  the  hands  of  Mary  and 
Elizabeth  as  being  too  large.  "  But,"  he  said,  "  it 
is  a  much  better  fault  than  if  they  were  too  small. 
I  have  noticed  that  Stuart,  as  great  an  artist  as  he 
was,  sometimes  made  his  hands  so  small  as  to 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND 

suggest  birds'  claws.  A  large  hand  —  if  not  too 
large  —  gives  majesty  to  a  figure."  He  also  criti- 
cised the  colors  that  I  had  opposed  to  each  other 
in  some  of  my  draperies.  Taking  out  a  pencil,  he 
then  drew  for  me  on  a  bit  of  paper  the  well-known 
(though  new  to  me)  diagram  of  the  three  over- 
lapping circles,  writing  in  the  names  of  the  three 
primary  colors  and  their  compound  opposites. 
This  was  a  system  of  arranging  colors  entirely 
new  to  me,  and  one  I  afterward  found  very 
valuable. 

Before  he  left  he  expressed  regret  that  he  could 
not  show  me  his  large  picture,  —  which  I  had  not 
dared  to  mention,  —  as  he  did  not  like  to  show  it  in 
its  then  transition  state.  Alas,  poor  man !  he  little 
thought  how  soon  it  would  be  exhibited  in  that 
state  to  the  ignorant,  unsympathizing  world.  I 
went  away  with  the  impression  that  he  was  the 
truest  artist  and  most  angelic  man  I  had  ever  met ; 
and  now  I  cannot  help  contrasting  his  sweet  man- 
ner to  me,  a  young  stranger,  with  that  of  many 
would-be-great  artists  whom  I  have  met  since. 

After  many  paintings  in  and  paintings  out  of 
various  subjects,  I  finished  a  large  picture  of 
"  Christ  in  the  Temple  with  the  Doctors,"  com- 
posed of  five  figures,  as  I  remember,  life-size,  half- 
length,  besides  two  in  the  distance  of  Mary  and 
Joseph.  There  were  some  things  in  this  picture  I 


;^    MY/THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

think  as  good  as  anything  I  ever  painted.  It  was 
liked  very  much  by  the  artists,  and  made  me 
talked  about  for  some  little  time.  I  was  invited  to 
send  it  to  the  Academy  Exhibition  at  Baltimore, 
where  it  gained  for  me  an  honorary  membership. 
From  there  it  went  to  an  exhibition  in  Washing- 
ton, and  received  a  medal.  I  then  disposed  of  it  to 
the  Art  Union  of  New  York  for  three  hundred 
dollars,  —  not  a  mean  price  in  those  days ;  at  any 
rate,  I  was  satisfied. 

There  is  one  branch  of  Art  that  I  have  had  some 
practice  in,  which  I  had  come  near  forgetting  to 
mention.  In  all  my  striving  to  paint  flesh  as  it 
should  be  painted,  I  can  only  remember  twice,  per- 
haps three  times  in  my  life  that  I  have  succeeded 
in  painting  the  real  living  flesh,  in  which  you  could 
actually  see  the  blood  circulating.  Perhaps  it  will 
be  interesting  to  hear  how  I  did  it.  The  first  time 
was  while  I  occupied  my  first  studio. 

One  Monday  morning  I  received  an  early  visit 
from  the  "  Irish  cutter "  employed  by  the  tailor 
who  made  my  clothes.  He  appeared  in  rather  a 
dilapidated  condition,  and  with  one  eye  in  deep 
mourning.  He  said  he  was  having  "  a  bit  of  foon  " 
Saturday  night,  and  met  with  an  accident,  and  that 
it  would  be  as  much  as  his  place  was  worth  to 
appear  at  the  shop  with  his  eye  in  that  state,  and 
begged  me  to  "  touch  it  up  a  bit "  for  him.  In 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  103 

vain  I  told  him  that  I  had  never  done  or  heard  of 
such  a  thing.  He  said  it  was  a  common  thing  in 
the  "  ould  country,"  and  he  was  sure  I  could  do  it. 
Now,  I  had  never  tried  my  hand  at  fresco-painting, 
but  I  took  some  opaque  water  colors  and  "  touched 
it  up  a  bit,"  matching  the  tints  of  the  good  eye. 
The  result  was  perfectly  satisfactory  to  him,  and 
he  went  away  delighted  to  have  really  found  a 
"friend  in  need." 

My  next  patient  was  a  more  illustrious  personage. 
Several  years  after  the  first  case,  —  also  Mon- 
day morning,  —  a  gentleman  mounted  to  my  attic, 
whom  I  recognized,  notwithstanding  one  eye  was 
covered,  as  one  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  me 
on  the  street  as  Belcher  Kay,  the  celebrated  pugi- 
list and  teacher  of  "  the  manly  art  of  self-defence." 
He  also  had  met  with  an  accident "  while  boxing 
with  a  friend,"  and  I  should  do  him  the  greatest 
favor  if  I  would  paint  it  over  for  him.  I  had  my 
palette  on  my  thumb,  and  at  once  repaired  the 
damage.  This,  I  think,  was  more  successful  than 
my  first  effort,  barring  the  gloss.  But  I  assured 
him  that  being  done  in  oils,  it  would  not  fade.  He 
was  very  grateful,  and  much  surprised  that  I  de- 
clined to  accept  any  pay ;  saying,  as  he  left,  that  if 
I  cared  to  do  them,  there  were  many  such  cases 
occurring  in  his  profession,  and  he  would  recom- 
mend me.  I  heard  the  next  day  that  "  the  friend  " 


104  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

who  gave  him  the  black  eye  was  a  burly  country- 
man who,  upon  the  Professor's  invitation  from 
the  stage  of  the  theatre  where  he  was  giving  an 
exhibition  of  the  "  noble  art,"  for  any  gentleman  to 
step  up  and  try  a  round  with  him,  had  jumped 
up  from  the  "  pit "  and  on  to  the  stage,  and  before 
the  Professor  could  adjust  his  gloves,  pitched  into 
him  with  a  blow  in  the  eye  that  knocked  him  half- 
way across  the  stage  and  ended  the  performance. 

The  third  and  last  case  touched  me  more  nearly 
than  the  others,  inasmuch  as  the  occasion  of  it 
came  near  causing  my  death  of  a  broken  neck.  In 
a  moment  of  absence  of  mind  I  stepped  backward 
from  the  very  top  of  my  ladder,  but  fortunately 
had  presence  of  mind  enough  left  to  turn  like  a 
cat  and  come  down  on  all-fours.  But  my  arms 
were  not  strong  enough  to  prevent  my  chin  from 
striking  the  floor  with  a  terrible  bump.  When, 
after  trying  my  limbs,  I  found  there  was  nothing 
broken,  and  I  had  strength  enough  to  get  up,  I 
looked  in  the  glass  to  see  what  damage  had  been 
done  to  my  chin,  —  which  at  that  time  was  shaven. 
Remembering  that  I  had  engaged  to  take  a  promi- 
nent part  at  a  "  musical "  that  evening,  I  decided 
that  some  patching-up  would  be  necessary,  and  my 
wound  soon  vanished  from  sight  under  the  manip- 
ulation of  my  brushes  and  colors. 

Speaking  of  absence  of  mind,  I  will  relate  one 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  105 

true  case  as  absurd  as  many  of  the  manufactured 
ones.  One  evening  I  sat  reading  in  my  studio, 
when,  my  fire  getting  low,  I  took  the  scuttle  and 
shovel  in  one  hand,  and  a  tumbler  of  water  from 
the  table  in  the  other,  went  into  a  pitch-dark  room 
without  the  slightest  hesitation  or  fumbling,  got 
my  coals,  and  only  discovered  upon  replacing  the 
glass  upon  the  table,  that  it  was  not  the  candle, 
which  I  intended  to  have  taken,  and  without  which 
I  could  not  have  done  the  same  thing  again. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  next  year  after  disposing  of  my  picture  of 
"  Christ  in  the  Temple,"  I  painted,  on  a  canvas 
somewhat  smaller  than  the  above,  a  scene  from 
"  King  Lear,"  representing  the  King,  Cordelia,  and 
the  Physician.  This  was  bought  immediately  by 
the  Art  Union  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
Many  years  afterward,  remembering  this  picture 
pleasantly,  and  being  desirous  of  possessing  one  of 
my  own  paintings  to  leave  to  my  daughter,  I  traced 
it  to  Jersey  City,  where  by  permission  of  the  owner 
I  saw  it  for  the  first  time  since  it  left  my  studio, 
nearly  twenty  years  before,  and  was  not  disap- 
pointed in  it.  After  having  told  the  lady  who  I 
was,  I  explained  to  her  why  I  wished  to  own  it, 
as  an  apology  for  asking  her  if  she  would  sell  it 
back  to  me.  She  said  she  could  not  possibly  think 
of  parting  with  it,  as  it  had  hung  so  long  on  her 
wall  that  it  would  be  like  parting  with  one  of  her 
children.  The  best  I  could  do  was  to  obtain  a 
promise  from  her  that  if  ever  she  wished  to  part 
with  it  she  would  let  me  know  first. 

About  two  years  after  this,  I  received  a  letter 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  107 

from  her  to  the  effect  that  as  they  were  about  to 
move  into  the  country,  she  had  concluded  to  sell 
the  picture ;  that  her  friends  told  her  it  was  worth 
five  hundred  dollars  at  least,  and  that  I  could  have 
it  at  that  price.  Fearing  if  I  let  it  slip  now  I 
should  never  see  it  again,  I  closed  the  bargain,  — 
glad  on  the  whole  that  my  pictures  did  not  depre- 
ciate in  value,  and  that  I  had  found  out  a  good 
way  to  prevent  it. 

After  having  sold  these  two  pictures,  as  I  said 
before  making  the  above  digression,  I  began  to 
think  that  the  dream  of  my  life  was  about  to  be 
realized.  I  had  been  told  that  a  young  man  could 
go  to  Italy,  spend  a  year,  and  come  back  again  for 
five  hundred  dollars.  It  was  hard  to  believe ;  but 
with  the  two  hundred  I  felt  sure  I  should  get  for 
the  picture  then  in  hand,  I  thought  I  should  be 
safe.  I  therefore  began  to  make  my  arrangements 
to  start  as  soon  as  I  should  receive  it.  I  had  now  no 
one  to  keep  me  at  home,  my  dear  mother  having 
been  dead  some  years.  She  lived  only  long  enough 
to  guide  her  boy  by  the  quicksands  and  over  the 
stumbling-stones  of  his  early  youth  to  the  more 
fair  and  open  road  of  life;  then  leaving  him  the 
compass,  —  the  memory  of  her  holy  life  and  pre- 
cepts,—  went  home  to  her  rest. 

My  four  sisters  had  married  comfortably,  the 
two  youngest  of  whom  followed  their  mother  a 


108  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

few  years  after.  The  two  oldest  rearing  their 
families  at  a  distance  from  the  city,  I  was  left 
alone.  Hence  my  strong  desire  to  avail  myself  of 
an  early  opportunity  to  go  abroad  for  improvement 
in  my  art,  and  I  was  now  only  waiting  the  last 
few  dollars  to  enable  me  to  do  so. 

I  remember  at  this  time  I  received  a  friendly 
visit  from  Alexander.  As  I  have  before  remarked, 
he  never  invited  me  inside  of  his  studio,  but  fre- 
quently visited  mine.  Upon  my  telling  him  I  had 
decided  to  go  abroad,  he  asked  me  what  I  meant 
to  do  with  all  my  canvases.  I  told  him  I  should 
give  away  all  that  were  worth  taking  to  my  friends. 
He  wished  I  would  give  him  some  little  thing  to 
remember  me  by.  I  was  so  delighted  and  flattered 
that  he  should  desire  to  possess  anything  of  mine, 
that  I  told  him  to  help  himself  to  anything  he 
liked.  After  looking  round  the  room,  he  chose  a 
portrait  of  myself,  at  which  I  felt  still  further 
complimented.  This  portrait  was  one  of  many  I 
had  painted  of  myself  from  time  to  time,  when  I 
wished  to  try  some  new  experiment,  and  could 
induce  no  one  to  lend  himself  to  the  trial.  I  know 
there  was  something  good  in  this  one,  for  when 
I  exhibited  it  at  the  Athenaeum,  Mr.  Frothingham 
—  a  then  celebrated  portrait-painter,  and  pupil  of 
Stuart  —  inquired  of  the  door-keeper  who  I  was, 
and  left  word  for  me  to  call  on  him ;  which  1  did, 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  109 

and  was  complimented  by  him  for  my  "  bold 
manner."  In  fact,  Alexander  would  not  have 
carried  away  anything  very  trashy  under  his  arm, 
as  he  did  this  picture,  much  to  my  gratification. 

The  annual  exhibition  in  the  Athena3um  gallery 
was  always  of  great  importance  to  the  artists,  as  it 
gave  them  an  opportunity  to  compare  their  works 
one  with  another,  and  occasionally  see  a  good  pic- 
ture from  outside ;  for,  as  now  with  the  Museum  of 
Fine  Arts,  there  were  persons  fortunate  enough  to 
own  good  works  of  Art,  who  were  proud  to  be 
invited  to  loan  them  to  such  an  exhibition.  The 
collecting  and  arranging  of  the  pictures  were  gen- 
erally given  into  the  hands  of  the  artists,  who  were 
always  ready  enough  to  accept  the  charge.  I  re- 
member the  first  picture  I  ever  exhibited.  It 
happened  that  year  that  an  Englishman  by  the 
name  of  Haward  —  a  connoisseur  and  dealer  in 
old  pictures  —  came  to  Boston  with  a  choice  col- 
lection of  u  old  masters,"  which  he  was  desirous  of 
showing  to  the  public.  He  was  invited  to  take 
charge  of  the  annual  exhibition,  with  the  privilege 
of  accepting  or  rejecting  any  outside  contributions. 
I  took  my  little  picture  —  an  oil  miniature  —  to 
him,  not  feeling  very  hopeful,  and  asked  him  if  it 
was  good  enough  to  exhibit.  He  accepted  it  at 
once.  The  next  day  an  artist  friend  told  me 
that  Mr.  Haward  spoke  of  my  picture,  and  ex- 


110  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

pressed  his  surprise  that  I  did  not  know  it  was 
good. 

These  little  compliments  from  old  and  estab- 
lished artists  I  used  to  treasure  up  for  comfort  in 
my  hours  of  despondency ;  for  I  really  do  not  be- 
lieve I  thought  any  too  much  of  my  own  work, 
and  now  it  seems  to  me  that  I  painted  better  than 
I  knew. 

I  have  said  that  persons  owning  good  pictures 
were  generally  proud  and  willing  to  loan  them  to 
be  exhibited  at  the  Athenaeum.  But  there  were 
occasional  exceptions.  I  remember  one  year  when 
I  happened  to  be  one  of  a  committee  of  three 
appointed  to  collect  and  arrange  the  pictures.  We 
heard  that  an  old  gentleman  on  Franklin  Street 
was  the  owner  of  some  choice  old  portraits,  among 
them  two  or  three  fine  u  Stuarts."  We  called  upon 
him  at  once,  stated  our  object  in  coming,  and 
begged  permission  to  see  his  pictures,  expressing 
a  hope  that  he  would  consent  to  contribute  two 
or  three  of  them  to  our  exhibition. 

"  Walk  in,  walk  in,  gentlemen ! "  said  he,  opening 
the  parlor  door.  "  You  do  me  great  honor ;  look 
round  and  see  what  you  find  to  admire."  So  en- 
couraged, we  did  look  round  and  selected  three  or 
four  (the  Stuarts  of  course  among  them),  which  we 
praised  very  highly. 

"  So  you  like  them  ?  "  appearing  to  be  very  much 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  Ill 

gratified ;  "  and  you  would  like  those  four  for  your 
exhibition?" 

"  Yes,  very  much,  if  you  will  be  so  kind." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  putting  his  thumb  to  his 
broad  nose  and  playing  an  imaginary  clarionet 
with  his  four  fat  fingers,  "  you  can't  have  'em." 

This  climax  was  such  a  ludicrous  surprise  to 
us  that  after  looking  at  each  other  a  moment,  we 
burst  out  in  a  chorus  of  laughter  and  bade  the  old 
cock  good-morning.  When  on  the  street,  we  de- 
cided unanimously  that  our  friend  was  rich,  but 
vulgar. 

Well,  by  this  time  that  remittance  from  the  Art 
Union  ought  to  have  come,  so  that  I  could  be  off 
to  Italy.  Alas  !  in  a  few  days  my  picture  was  re- 
turned to  me  with  a  letter  stating  that  the  com- 
mittee considered  it  quite  inferior  to  the  other  two 
which  they  had  bought,  and  declined  to  accept  it. 
This  came  like  a  blow  in  the  face,  destroying  every 
thread  of  confidence  in  myself.  I  decided  at  once 
to  postpone  indefinitely  my  visit  to  Italy. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

To  give  the  reader  an  idea  of  studio  life,  —  or  at 
least  the  life  of  my  friend  George  Fuller  and  my- 
self while  we  were  struggling  together,  —  I  can- 
not do  better  than  introduce  a  letter  published  in 
the  "  Boston  Daily  Transcript "  shortly  after  the 
death  of  my  friend  in  1884. 

THOMAS  BALL  ON  GEORGE  FULLER. 

In  my  last  "  Transcript,"  April  1,  I  read  an  interest- 
ing article  on  my  dear  old  friend,  George  Fuller.  Think- 
ing that  a  few  earlier  items  of  his  career  might  also  be 
of  interest  to  his  many  friends,  I  have  endeavored  to 
recall  some  incidents  of  those  hopeful  days  between 
1846  and  1850,  when  he  and  I  were  wrestling  together 
with  color  in  the  attic  rooms  of  No.  17-J  Tremont  Row ; 
and  if  I  speak  of  mj'self  more  than  would  seem  necessary 
I  must  plead  a  natural  desire  to  improve  the  opportunity 
of  appearing  in  such  good  company.  I  had  at  that 
time  the  very  top  floor,  under  the  roof,  the  rafters  of 
which  were  gazing  down  at  me  in  all  their  rough  naked- 
ness until  I  veiled  them  with  a  casing  of  cheap  calico. 
George  occupied  the  room  directly  under  me,  making  it 
convenient  to  take  our  pictures  into  each  other's  room, 
as  we  proceeded  with  our  work,  for  comparison  and 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN.  113 

criticism.  We  were  then  struggling  after  Allston's 
color ;  being  fascinated,  as  were  all  the  young  artists 
of  that  day,  with  his  unfinished  canvases  which  had 
been  exhibited  not  long  before.  "  Belshazzar's  Feast" 
was  our  particular  study,  as  that  seemed  to  show  his 
method  in  all  stages  of  his  work.  I  think  the  effect  of 
his  then  admiration  for  that  great  artist  can  be  traced 
in  all  Mr.  Fuller's  works.  Joe  Ames  was  another  who 
was  striving  after  Allston's  method,  and  at  that  time 
with  more  success  than  either  of  us  ;  his  pictures  creat- 
ing quite  a  sensation  for  their  Titian  color,  although 
neither  of  us  had  ever  seen  a  Titian.  I  will  relate  a 
little  incident  characteristic  of  both  artists,  Ames  and 
Fuller.  The  former  was  fond  of  making  a  mystery  of 
his  peculiar  method  of  working.  Calling  in  on.  us  one 
day,  we  teased  him  to  tell  us  how  he  produced  his 
beautiful  color;  and  being  somewhat  nattered,  he  gave 
way  and  went  into  an  elaborate  explanation  of  each 
step  in  his  work.  On  his  next  visit  Fuller  brought 
forward  a  really  charming  bit  of  color,  and  told  Ames 
that  it  was  painted  after  his  method,  which  he  thought 
he  should  adopt  in  future.  Ames  seemed  evidently 
alarmed.  "  Oh,  well,"  said  he,  "you  know  you  can't 
tell  anything  by  that,  because  I  never  paint  twice  in 
the  same  way."  "No?"  said  Fuller,  much  amused; 
but  as  I  have  mastered  that  way,  tell  us  another." 

About  this  time,  1848,  a  very  energetic  mutual  friend, 
himself  an  artist,  conceived  the  idea  of  forming  a  pri- 
vate Art  Union,  to  enable  each  of  us  —  Ames,  Fuller, 
and  myself —  to  show  what  we  could  do  on  a  large  can- 
vas. He  was  very  sanguine  of  being  able  to  interest 
several  moneyed  men  of  his  acquaintance  to  carry  it 

8 


114  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

through.  The  canvases  were  to  be  of  uniform  size 
(four  by  five  feet).  We  were  each  to  choose  his  own 
subject,  and  be  paid  a  good  price  for  his  work.  The 
pictures  were  to  be  exhibited,  and  the  best  one  en- 
graved. We  all  accepted  the  proposition,  and  I  made 
my  sketches  (subject,  "  Christ  in  the  Temple  with  the 
Doctors  "),  and  went  to  work  at  once  on  the  big  canvas. 
But  the  other  two,  being  less  credulous  as  to  the  finan- 
cial success  of  the  enterprise,  never  got  beyond  their 
first  sketch,  —  which  showed  their  superior  wisdom  ;  for 
before  my  picture  was  finished  the  whole  thing  fell 
through,  either  from  the  "  moneyed  men "  seeing  too 
little  of  the  other  two  pictures  or  too  much  of  mine. 
The  latter,  however,  was  finished  and  purchased  by  the 
New  York  Art  Union,  and  at  the  drawing  fell  to  the  lot 
of  Mrs.  Osgpod,  the  poetess  and  wife  of  the  artist. 
What  became  of  it  afterward  I  do  not  know,  but  I 
would  like  to  see  it  once  more,  as  it  was  painted  just 
when  the  Allston  epidemic  was  prevailing  among  us. 

Let  me  here  remark  that  we  shall  never  have  another 
Joe  Ames  or  George  Fuller  till  some  of  our  young  ar- 
tists learn  to  appreciate  Allston  as  highly  as  they  did. 
Not  that  I  would  have  them  all  Allstons  or  Fullers  ;  but 
it  would  be  pleasant  to  meet  with  one  occasionally, 
instead  of  seeing  them  all  modern  Frenchmen.  And  I 
consider  the  "  Belshazzar's  Feast,"  unfinished  as  it  is, 
a  perfect  mine  of  color.  I  think  I  hear  a  chorus  of 
young  voices  exclaim, "  What  an  old  fogy !  "  Well,  dig 
away,  boys,  in  your  own  way ;  if  you  are  conscientious 
workers,  you  will  come  out  all  right. 

But  to  return  to  our  old  friend.  He  seldom  finished 
a  picture  while  we  were  together,  —  often  disgusted  and 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN.  115 

painting  out,  —  and  I  doubt  if  there  are  many  in  ex- 
istence painted  at  that  time.  If  I  remember  rightly, 
there  were  one  or  two  in  the  Thomas  Thompson  collec- 
tion which  was  burned  in  the  old  Tremont  Temple  fire, 
and,  I  think,  several  beginnings  among  a  cartload  of 
my  own  unfinished  rubbish  (the  accumulation  of  twelve 
years  in  the  old  garret)  that  I  packed  away  and  left  un- 
der the  eaves,  but  which  had  totally  disappeared  on  my 
return  from  Europe,  two  years  afterward.  If  they  are 
still  in  existence,  which  I  very  much  doubt,  and  any 
one  will  return  to  me  the  two  or  three  from  his  hand, 
he  may  keep  the  rest  of  the  cartload.  By  the  way, 
there  is  one  picture  of  his  in  existence  which,  without 
accusing  him  of  "  art  fraud,'7 1  can  justly  claim  to  have 
assisted  in  producing.  One  day  he  came  to  my  door, 
palette  in  hand,  and  with  a  most  woe-begone  expres- 
sion. His  picture  was  in  a  "  muddle,"  and  would  I  be 
a  good  fellow,  take  my  guitar,  and  stir  up  his  sitter? 
As  the  sitter  happened  to  be  a  mutual  friend  and  a 
most  charming  young  lady,  whose  face  we  had  both 
painted  more  than  once,  I  could  not  refuse.  So  I 
dropped  my  palette,  and  seated  on  the  step  of  her 
throne,  I  sang  her  a  love  song,  while  he  serenely 
painted  away.  After  the  sitting  was  over,  the  riddle 
was,  Whose  heart  of  the  three  was  most  stirred,  how 
was  it  stirred,  and  who  stirred  it?  As  neither  he  nor  I 
could  guess  it,  we  gave  it  up.  But  I  got  him  out  of 
the  "muddle." 

Dear,  amiable,  dreamy  old  boy  !  How  we  did  dream 
together  in  those  days,  ay,  and  work  too !  Speaking 
of  dreaming,  we  had  in  each  of  our  studios,  divided 
off,  sleeping  accommodation  which  the  economy  we 


116  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

were  obliged  to  practise  prompted  us  to  avail  ourselves 
of;  and  thus,  notwithstanding  the  floor  between  us,  we 
were  brought  into  still  more  intimate  relations  with 
each  other.  Now  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever 
"  went  a-fishing  with  him,"  but  we  often  went  serenad- 
ing together.  Though  he  was  not  musical  himself,  he 
had  the  highest  admiration  for  my  humble  perform- 
ances ;  and  on  many  a  summer  night,  when  we  could  not 
sleep  for  the  heat,  we  used  to  take  my  guitar  and  sally 
forth  after  midnight  (dogs  in  the  manger  that  we 
were  !)  and  disturb  those  who  could.  I  never  declined 
to  assist  in  paying  that  delicate  compliment  to  anybody 
in  whom  he  might  have  recently  become  interested ;  al- 
ways having  the  most  implicit  faith  in  her  beauty  and 
merit,  if  he  said  so.  He  used  to  say  he  went  as  my 
4 '  obbligato  accompaniment "  and  protection  ;  and  for 
those  services  claimed  any  little  flower  or  bouquet  that 
might  by  accident  drop  from  above  during  the  perform- 
ance. I  remember  at  one  time  —  but  I  wonder  if  these 
things  are  interesting  to  anybody  else  ?  —  I  had  by  the 
strictest  economy  scraped  together  money  enough  to 
buy  a  carpet  for  my  studio.  But  when  the  carpet  was 
paid  for,  there  was  nothing  left  to  pay  for  making  it ; 
when  dear  old  George  came  to  the  rescue  by  suggest- 
ing that  we  could  make  it  ourselves,  which  we  accord- 
ingly did ;  and  I  think  our  female  friends  would  have 
been  highly  amused  could  they  have  looked  in  on  us 
as  we  sat  cross-legged  upon  the  floor,  with  a  candle  on 
each  side  of  us,  sewing  away  for  dear  life.  Our  re- 
freshment on  that  occasion  consisted  of  a  bottle  of  ale 
and  a  plate  of  crackers  and  cheese.  "Why  we  did  not 
have  tea  I  do  not  remember,  for  we  were  both  extrava- 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  117 

gantly  fond  of  that  beverage,  and  often  indulged  in  a 
social  cup  together  in  the  studio.  We  neither  of  us 
smoked  at  that  time,  but  enjoyed  an  occasional  pinch 
of  snuff  out  of  a  long,  slim  black  snuff-box  kept  in  the 
studio,  which  went  by  the  name  of  "  the  young  pirate's 
coffin,"  from  its  general  resemblance  to  that  sombre 
receptacle,  and  which  generally  made  its  appearance 
when  George  did.  He  was  a  favorite  nephew  of  Mrs. 
Hildreth,  wife  of  the  historian,  —  a  lady  of  consider- 
able celebritj^  as  a  miniature-painter,  and  something 
of  a  musician,  at  whose  house  we  used  to  spend  many 
pleasant  evenings. 

I  wish  I  could  recall  some  of  his  dry,  quaint  say- 
ings, but  it  is  too  long  ago  to  remember  more  than  that 
they  were  often  very  funny.  His  logical  inductions 
were  so  reasonably  absurd  as  to  seriously  disturb  all 
faces  but  his  own.  Always  the  same  sweet,  lovable 
companion  !  It  delights  me  now  to  remember  that  not 
one  harsh  word  ever  passed  between  us  during  all  those 
years  that  we  were  so  intimately  associated.  He  left 
Boston  for  New  York  before  I  made  my  first  visit  to 
Europe.  When  we  next  met  we  were  both  married,  he 
had  retired  to  his  farm,  and  I  had  deserted  paint  for 
clay.  It  was  while  I  was  at  work  upon  my  equestrian 
Washington  that  he  called  on  me  during  a  flying  visit 
to  Boston.  Twenty  years  passed  before  we  met  again. 
I  shall  always  be  grateful  that  we  were  permitted  to 
meet  once  more  in  this  world.  I  called  at  his  studio 
door  last  summer,  and  when  he  opened  it,  stood  for  a 
moment  silent.  He  did  not  recognize  me ;  but  at  the 
first  word  he  remembered  the  tone  of  my  voice,  and 
then,  I  assure  you,  our  greeting  was  mutually  satisfac- 


118  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN. 

toiy.  After  talking  a  few  moments,  I  was  delighted  to 
hear  him  ask  if  I  happened  to  have  "  the  young  pirate's 
coffin  "  about  me.  He  was  then  at  work  on  a  portrait 
of  a  little  niece  of  mine,  "  the  young  lady  in  a  white 
dress,"  which  must  be  the  last  portrait  he  ever  painted. 
I  was  pleased  to  recognize  in  it  the  same  warm  feeling 
for  color,  the  same  tender  sentiment  that  marked  his 
early  efforts  when  we  were  struggling  together  nearly 
forty  years  ago. 

Twenty  years  without  meeting.     It  will  not  be  so 
long  again,  dear  old  boy,  before  we  meet. 

THOMAS  BALL. 
FLORENCE,  April  20, 1884. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

I  NOW  approach  a  most  important  crisis  in  my 
life,  which  I  find  somewhat  embarrassing  to  touch 
upon,  involving  as  it  does  a  confession  which  men 
are  generally  loath  to  make.  The  great  majority 
of  men  as  well  as  women  have  at  some  period  of 
their  lives,  for  a  longer  or  shorter  time,  suffered 
"  the  pangs  of  unrequited  love."  But  men  are  apt, 
when  they  find  their  oaths  have  been  unavailing,  to 
be  ready  on  the  next  occasion  to  — 

Forget  the  oaths  they  lately  swore 
And  swear  they  never  swore  before; 

so  ashamed  are  they  of  what  they  consider  a 
womanish  weakness,  yet  one  too  strong  for  them 
to  escape  from. 

I  have  often  been  asked  —  oftener  by  my  female 
friends,  perhaps  because  they  are  naturally  more 
curious  than  their  brothers  —  what  made  me  aban- 
don Painting  for  Sculpture.  I  have  always  evaded 
the  question  when  I  could,  and  when  I  could  not, 
have  —  well,  not  told  the  whole  truth.  But  now, 
after  so  many  happy  years  have  passed  since  the 


120  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

calamity  happened  that  caused  the  change,  I  will 
confess  that  what  suggested  the  idea,  and  made 
me  lay  down  my  palette  and  take  clay  into  my 
hands  for  the  first  time,  was  —  Love. 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us  about  it ! "  I  hear  a  fresh  young 
voice  exclaim ;  "  I  do  dote  upon  a  good  love-story, 
especially  a  real  one." 

Well,  Miss,  as  this  professes  to  be  a  true  story 
of  my  life,  and  as  this  episode  wrought  so  impor- 
tant a  change  in  that  life,  and,  above  all,  as  I 
know  you  are  dying  to  hear  it,  I  will  tell  it ;  but 
you  will  find  it  a  very  one-sided  affair. 

One  would  think  that  situated  as  I  was  at  this 
time  financially,  disappointed  in  my  fondest  hope 
for  the  want  of  a  few  hundred  dollars,  the  idea 
of  falling  in  love,  with  such  a  frail  prospect  of 
being  able  to  support  a  wife,  would  have  been  the 
very  last  to  occur  to  me  and  the  wildest  to  in- 
dulge in.  But  the  truth  was,  I  never  in  my  life 
had  been  so  completely  and  severely  alone  as  at 
this  time.  My  only  intimate  friend  and  com- 
panion—  George  Fuller  —  had  left  me  and  taken 
up  his  abode  in  New  York.  I  seemed  to  have  no 
one  to  turn  to  for  the  sympathy  my  heart  craved. 

Then,  in  the  midst  of  my  yearning,  one  face 
would  constantly  come  up  before  me,  —  a  face  that 
I  had  gazed  at  and  studied  much  and  often  in  the 
last  few  months  with  no  warmer  feeling  I  thought 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  121 

than  professional  admiration.  But  now  it  seemed 
to  me,  if  I  could  be  sure  of  the  sympathy  and  love 
of  that  one  being,  I  could  begin  again  with  renewed 
vigor,  and  labor  patiently  till  I  could  conquer  for- 
tune. I  may  here  observe  that  my  friend  George 
was  the  innocent  cause  of  the  trouble  that  was 
brewing  for  me. 

One  day  a  year  or  more  previous  to  this,  he  came 
into  my  room  raving  about  two  young  ladies  whom 
he  had  met  and  been  introduced  to,  —  I  think  at 
his  Aunt  Hildreth's  house,  —  "  Such  subjects  for  pic- 
tures !  "  and  I  must  meet  them.  He  had  the  pro- 
gramme all  arranged.  We  were  to  take  one  of 
our  midnight  strolls  with  the  guitar,  serenade 
them,  and  afterward  call  on  them  together.  He 
had  already  spoken  of  me  to  them,  and  obtained 
their  permission  to  introduce  me.  I  was  all  ripe 
for  the  serenade,  but  from  natural  diffidence  hesi- 
tated at  the  thought  of  calling  upon  them  after- 
ward. We  did,  however,  finally  carry  out  the  en- 
tire programme.  The  serenade  was  a  success,  and 
the  evening  call  not  long  afterward  delightful. 

I  found  these  young  ladies  as  fascinating  and 
pictorially  suggestive  as  my  friend  had  represented 
them.  They  were  both  blondes,  —  I  believe  I  have 
already  confessed  a  weakness  for  blondes,  —  so  far 
alike,  but  no  farther.  The  younger  was  a  bright, 
pert  little  body,  in  stature  about  the  popular  Yenus 


122  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

de'  Medici  height,  with  complexion  like  a  sun- 
ripened  peach,  well  mingled  with  the  pearly  tints 
that  painters  so  love  to  revel  in ;  features  not  over- 
regular,  the  nose  just  elevated  enough  at  the  end 
to  make  one  feel  grateful  that  the  corners  of  the 
mouth  slightly  drooped,  giving  the  face  in  repose 
an  exceedingly  innocent  and  childlike  expression. 

The  elder  sister  was  totally  different  in  tempera- 
ment from  the  younger,  taller  in  stature,  and  more 
fully  developed  in  every  way ;  features  more  regu- 
lar ;  the  same  glorious  color  in  flesh  and  hair,  the 
latter  growing  low  enough  to  admit  of  its  being 
tossed  away  from  the  forehead  and  temples  in  the 
most  ravishingly  picturesque  manner,  —  the  whole 
structure  looking  as  if  a  breath  of  wind  would  blow 
it  away,  but  it  never  did.  They  both  had  this  mar- 
vellous faculty  of  doing  up  their  hair,  which  seemed 
to  melt  out  of  the  flesh  without  a  line,  —  only  a 
delicate,  pearly  half -tint  to  mark  the  division. 

Well,  this  elder  sister  was  the  one  whose  face 
now  haunted  me  in  my  loneliness.  The  only  hope, 
or  reason  for  hope  I  had,  was  her  readiness  to  sit 
to  me  as  often  as  I  asked  her,  never  refusing  or 
hesitating,  always  expressing  the  greatest  interest 
in  everything  I  did. 

1  had  called  upon  her  many  times  the  past  year 
for  assistance  in  my  ideal  pictures,  and  it  seemed 
to  give  her  pleasure  to  sit  to  me.  George  was 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  123 

evidently  more  taken  with  the  younger  beauty, 
whose  portrait  I  also  had  painted.  Bat  he  had 
made  many  studies  from  her  bright  young  face. 
She  it  was  at  whose  feet  I  sang  the  love-song  to 
call  out  the  right  expression  for  him,  while  her 
serene  and  quiet  sister  was  silently  working  the 
mischief  with  my  heart. 

I  now  resolved  to  watch  more  closely  for  any 
sign  of  a  response  on  her  part  to  the  feeling  she 
inspired  in  me. 

I  began  a  new  picture  on  a  larger  canvas  than  I 
had  yet  spoiled,  laying  in  a  scene  from  Scott's 
"  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  where  the  old  harper 
is  playing  before  the  Duchess  of  Buccleuch  and 
her  ladies.  Among  the  latter  my  beautiful  blonde 
was  to  occupy  the  most  conspicuous  position.  As 
usual,  she  was  ready  and  willing  to  sit  to  me  as 
often  as  I  wished. 

As  I  gazed  at  her  face  day  after  day,  growing 
more  desperately  infatuated,  knowing  that  she 
must  long  since  have  read  my  secret  in  my  eyes 
without  making  the  least  response,  I  resolved  to 
tear  myself  away  from  her.  The  picture  was  now 
nearly  finished,  and  I  seriously  intended  to  "  pull 
up  stakes,"  and  open  a  studio  in  New  York. 

I  may  as  well  confess  that  I  did  go  for  the  above 
purpose,  but  —  returned  the  next  day !  That  was 
only  one  of  the  absurd  things  I  did  at  this  time 


124  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND  TEN. 

which  I  shall  say  nothing  about,  as  they  were  not 
original.  But  I  came  back  determined  to  speak 
out,  and  receive  my  sentence  from  her  own  lips, 
which  I  did  that  night ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  the 
sentence  of  death.  She  was  kind  but  firm,  and  1 
was  soon  convinced  that  there  was  not  the  slightest 
hope  of  any  change  in  the  future  of  her  sentiments 
toward  me. 

I  left  her,  feeling  that  life  had  no  further  use  for 
me,  nor  I  for  life.  How  I  found  my  way  back  to 
my  studio  I  don't  know ;  but  I  did,  and  after  walk- 
ing the  floor  half  the  night,  slept.  You  know  men 
are  said  to  sleep  soundly  the  night  before  their 
execution.  I  awoke  next  morning,  amazed  that  I 
felt  so  calm,  but  weak  as  if  just  recovering  from  a 

fever. 

"  Shall  I,  wasting  in  despair, 
Die  because  a  woman  's  fair  ? 

If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 

What  care  I  how  fair  she  be  ?  " 

I  did  care,  though,  but  determined  I  would  not  die 
or  waste  any  longer  in  despair.  I  took  my  picture, 
from  which  her  cold,  calm  face  was  looking  out  at 
me,  and  with  a  sigh  laid  it  down  on  the  floor; 
then,  pouring  over  it  half  a  gill  of  spirits  of  tur- 
pentine, with  a  big  piece  of  pumice-stone  scoured 
the  surface  colors  all  into  one  muddy  veil  through 
which  could  be  discerned  only  the  design. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  125 

So  much  for  my  last  two  months'  work.  I  may 
here  add  that  many  years  afterward  I  repeated  the 
operation  of  the  pumice-stone  and  turpentine  to 
this  same  picture,  —  this  time  scraping  off  the 
muddy  mass,  leaving  the  most  tempting  foundation 
to  re-touch  into.  But  I  never  did. 

To  return  to  the  first  scouring.  After  turning 
the  picture  face  to  the  wall,  I  felt  a  strange  sense 
of  relief,  accompanied  by  a  morbid  indifference  to 
everything.  Shutting  myself  up  in  my  studio,  I 
endeavored  to  divert  my  mind  —  and  succeeded  in 
a  degree  —  by  reading  one  or  two  stimulating 
novels  of  no  very  great  depth.  After  a  week  of 
this  kind  of  nursing,  I  felt  that  a  change  of  diet 
was  necessary.  I  began  to  feel  like  work,  but  I 
must  be  amused  withal.  What  could  I  do  ?  I 
could  not  bear  the  sight  of  my  palette,  or  anything 
pertaining  to  painting.  An  idea  struck  me  all  at 
once  like  an  inspiration.  I  would  get  a  piece  of 
clay  to  play  with, — only  to  play  with  till  the  return 
of  a  more  healthy  state  of  mind. 

With  this  thought  I  went  begging  to  my  friend 
King  the  sculptor,  who  kindly  furnished  me  with 
a  lump  of  clay  the  size  of  my  two  fists.  With  this 
I  hurried  back  to  my  studio,  stuck  up  the  clay  on 
the  top  of  a  pedestal,  and  with  a  few  sticks  that  I 
whittled  out,  began  a  little  head,  with  which  I  soon 
became  so  absorbed  and  fascinated  that  I  forgot 


126  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

all  my  troubles  for  the  time  being,  and  wondered 
that  I  had  never  before  thought  of  this  very 
agreeable  diversion. 

I  now  found  myself  rapidly  convalescing;  and 
soon  there  only  remained  of  my  recent  illness  a 
settled  but  not  unpleasant  melancholy  in  heart, 
which  lent  itself  somewhat  I  fear  to  my  counte- 
nance. But  the  cure  was  wrought. 

There,  Miss,  you  have  the  whole  of  the  first  act ; 
and  I  hope  you  have  been  highly  edified.  I  think 
you  will  find  the  second  act  more  interesting. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SOME  may  think  that  one  love-affair  is  sufficient 
at  present;  but  if  they  imagine  that  after  de- 
voting so  many  lines  to  one,  I  shall  remain  silent 
in  regard  to  her  through  whose  sweet  influence  my 
whole  after  life  has  been  made  serene  and  happy, 
they  are  much  mistaken.  All  these  months  that  I 
had  been  crying  for  the  moon,  my  guiding  star  had 
been  waiting  patiently  to  lead  me  on  to  paths  of 
pleasantness  and  peace.  Albeit  my  guiding  star 
was  not  aware  of  it. 

To  explain,  I  must  take  you  back  ten  years,  and 
tell  you  a  story  of  a  little  girl  I  once  knew. 

I  have  said  already  that  Music  has  always  been 
to  me  a  constant  friend ;  but  she  never  did  me  a 
more  friendly  turn  than  when  by  her  aid  I  first 
entered  the  choir  of  St.  Paul's  Church. 

Dr.  Parkman  Tuckerman  was  organist;  his 
cousin,  Frank  Tuckerman,  M.D.,  the  tenor,  and 
I  forget  the  name  of  the  contralto;  but  the  soprano 
was  Mrs.  Wild,  a  charming  lady,  possessed  of  a 
lovely  voice  and  three  dear  little  children,  who 
used  to  come  with  her  to  church,  and  sit  with  us 


128  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN. 

in  the  choir.  I  became  very  much  attached  to 
them,  especially  the  oldest,  —  a  bright  little  girl  of 
nine  years.  The  mother  had  shown  me  many 
kindnesses,  and  had  invited  me  often  to  her  house 
to  sing  with  her.  At  the  end  of  the  year,  when  I 
had  a  call  from  another  chur.ch  at  a  higher  salary, 
I  wished  to  make  her  some  return  for  her  kindness 
to  me.  The  thought  occurred  to  me  to  paint  a 
miniature  of  her  little  daughter  Nelly,  and  present 
it  to  her  as  a  surprise.  But  in  order  to  do  this,  I 
must  enter  into  a  conspiracy  with  the  little  girl, 
who  was  delighted  at  the  idea  of  possessing  a 
secret  of  her  own  and  a  surprise  for  her  mother. 
We  arranged  that  she  should  come  to  my  studio 
every  day  directly  from  school  instead  of  going  to 
walk  or  play.  She  imparted  her  secret  to  a  little 
friend  about  her  own  age,  who  was  pleased  to 
accompany  her.  Of  course  it  was  dull  work  for 
both  of  them  to  sit  quietly  for  an  hour.  But  I 
thought  of  an  original  way  of  inducing  them  to  be 
patient,  and  rewarding  them  at  the  end  of  the 
sitting.  I  found  it  worked  charmingly,  and  I 
would  recommend  it  to  all  artists  having  children 
to  paint.  I  promised  to  play  for  them  to  dance, 
if  they  sat  quietly  through  the  hour.  I  assure 
you  I  could  not  have  offered  them  a  greater 
inducement. 

There  was  a  curtain  across  the  middle  of  my  big 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  129 

room,  behind  which  they  used  to  retire  at  the  end 
of  the  sitting  and  there  rig  themselves  in  their 
shawls  and  scarfs  in  the  most  fanciful  way,  and 
when  ready  ring  a  little  bell,  upon  which  I  gave 
them  a  chord  on  my  violin,  when  they  would  glide 
out  and  rehearse  the  last  steps  imparted  to  them 
by  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Barrymore. 

In  this  undignified  way  the  picture  was  painted. 
When  finished  my  little  sitter  carried  it  home  to 
her  mother  with  a  happy  heart.  I  little  thought  at 
that  time  that  one  day  that  dear  little  heart  would 
be  all  my  own.  That  miniature  with  its  long 
ringlets  of  golden  brown  hair  now  rests  on  my 
piano. 

To  return  to  my  story  from  where  I  departed  on 
this  digression. 

I  had  now  been  engaged  in  my  new  and  most  ab- 
sorbing occupation  two  or  three  months,  model- 
ling little  heads  to  be  destroyed  as  soon  as  finished. 
But  the  occasional  sigh  was  breathed  not  for  them, 
but  for  the  memory  of  the  past,  which  was  becom- 
ing less  painful  every  day. 

About  this  time  the  "Swedish  Nightingale," 
Jenny  Lind,  appeared  in  Boston.  Music  still  had 
power  to  draw  me  out  of  my  shell.  I  went  with 
the  multitude  to  hear  her,  and  was,  of  course,  de- 
lighted. But  the  piece  that  had  the  most  powerful 
effect  on  me  —  perhaps  partly  owing  to  my  then 

9 


130  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN. 

state  of  mind,  but  not  entirely,  for  others  were 
affected  in  the  same  way  —  and  has  remained  in 
my  memory  ever  since,  was  the  simple  old  ballad 
of  "  Auld  Robin  Gray."  The  touching  way  she 
rendered  those  familiar  words,  her  simple  and  in- 
nocent action,  and  the  sadly  pathetic  expression 
of  her  face  drew  tears  from  many  other  eyes  than 
my  own ;  and  then  the  childlike  way  she  ran  on 
to  the  stage  in  answer  to  an  encore,  seemingly 
frightened  at  the  effect  she  had  made,  was  some- 
thing to  be  remembered  as  a  piece  of  wonderful 
acting,  if  nothing  more.  The  other  great  artistic 
achievements  of  the  evening  only  astonished  me, 
but  did  not  move  my  heart. 

The  next  day  I  collected  all  the  photographs 
I  could  find,  and  began  a  little  bust  of  her,  which 
when  finished  was  pronounced  a  wonderful  success, 
and  was  my  first  work  in  Sculpture  to  go  out  into 
the  world ;  and  for  a  time  I  could  not  produce  the 
plaster  copies  fast  enough  to  supply  the  demand 
for  them.  But  soon  an  Italian  pirate  in  New  York 
got  possession  of  one  of  them,  and  relieved  me  from 
further  anxiety  by  flooding  the  market  at  starva- 
tion prices  ;  notwithstanding  I  had  procured  a  pa- 
tent from  Washington,  costing  me  thirty  dollars  in 
money,  a  copy  of  the  bust,  and  drawings  and  spe- 
cifications almost  as  many  as  would  be  required 
to  patent  a  steam-engine.  Now,  I  believe,  only  a 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN.  131 

simple   copyright  is  required   to  protect  (?)  such 
works. 

Speaking  of  Italian  pirates,  reminds  me  of  an  in- 
cident that  happened  to  two  of  my  little  busts,  ex- 
cessively annoying  to  the  originals.  I  had  heard 
of  a  very  skilful  formatore,  or  worker  in  plaster,  in 
New  York.  As  these  little  busts  were  portraits  of 
two  very  particular  friends  of  mine  residing  in 
Providence,  who  wished  a  dozen  casts  of  each  for 
their  friends,  I  sent  the  original  models  to  this 
Italian  in  New  York,  ordering  a  dozen  copies  of 
each.  They  were  made  very  nicely  and  sent  to 
me ;  and  I  forwarded  them  to  my  friends,  one  of 
whom  was  a  highly  respected  ex-mayor  of  the  city, 
a  very  tall,  slim,  fine-looking  man.  The  other,  his 
brother-in-law,  was  also  fine-looking,  but  stout, 
square-shouldered,  and  heavily  bearded.  The  lat- 
ter, shortly  after  receiving  these  busts,  was  walking 
through  one  of  the  principal  streets  of  Providence, 
when  he  passed  an  itinerant  Italian  image-vender, 
and  was  suddenly  brought  up  standing,  by  catching 
a  glimpse  of  these  two  little  busts  among  the 
figures  on  a  board  the  fellow  carried  on  his  head. 
My  friend  demanded  what  he  was  doing  with  those. 
"  Who  is  that  ?  "  pointing  to  his  own  bust.  "  That," 
said  the  man,  in  broken  English,  "  is  the  man  that 
was  hung  the  other  day  in  Boston ;  and  that  thin 
one  is  the  man  he  killed." 


132  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN. 

There  had  been  an  execution  in  Boston  a  short 
time  before,  creating  an  immense  sensation ;  and 
strange  enough,  the  slayer  and  his  victim  bore  a 
singular  resemblance  respectively,  in  the  contrast 
of  their  build,  to  my  two  friends.  But  imagine 
one's  surprise  and  indignation  at  meeting  one's 
own  portrait  peddled  about  as  that  of  a  mur^ 
derer,  and  that  only  a  few  rods  from  one's  own 
house. 

But  let  us  fly  back  to  our  little  friend  of  the 
golden  brown  ringlets. 

I  had  kept  up  the  friendly  relations  with  her 
family  the  last  ten  years ;  had  seen  her  grow  up 
from  a  child  to  a  very  convenient  young  woman  to 
play  our  accompaniments  when  I  sang  with  her 
mother.  But  for  the  last  year  or  more  I  had  sadly 
neglected  them.  Now  that  I  felt  myself  heart- 
whole,  —  although  not  entirely  free  from  a  certain 
pain  which  one  is  apt  to  indulge  in  for  the  sake  of 
sentiment, — I  remembered  with  shame  my  long  ab- 
sence from  their  pleasant  society,  and  resolved  to 
wend  my  way  to  Hancock  Street  with  the  best 
apology  I  could  invent. 

They  received  me  as  cordially  as  ever,  and 
kindly  refrained  from  asking  the  cause  of  my  long 
neglect  of  them,  or  of  the  rueful  countenance  I 
brought  back  with  me.  I  was  very  glad  to  renew 
those  delightful  musical  hours,  and  be  permitted  to 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  133 

join  them  when  I  felt  like  it,  or  to  sit  a  silent  lis- 
tener to  their  playing  and  singing. 

One  evening,  as  I  sat  listening  to  something  of 
Mendelssohn's  which  the  young  lady  was  playing, 
I  wondered,  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  way,  why  I  had 
never  noticed  before  what  a  beautiful  hand  and 
arm  she  had  to  paint. 

"  And  Prudence  sounded  no  alarm  ? "  I  think  I 
hear  you  ask.  No;  she  probably  thought  that 
with  that  doleful  countenance  I  was  safe. 

I  think  it  was  the  same  evening,  as  I  was  prepar- 
ing to  depart,  my  lady  laughed  and  rallied  me  on 
the  serious  face  I  had  returned  to  them  with,  —  so 
different  from  what  it  used  to  be,  —  and  said  she 
really  believed  I  was  in  love.  Now,  I  had  re- 
peatedly attributed  it  to  that  innocent  malady  "  the 
blues."  But  when  she  in  a  manner  accused  me  of 
being  in  love,  I  felt,  while  denying  the  accusation, 
that  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  me  to  confess  that 
I  had  been  deeply  in  love,  but  that  it  was  now 
all  over  and  done  with. 

Now,  she  would  have  been  more  or  less  than 
woman  if  she  had  not  expressed  an  earnest  desire 
to  hear  all  about  it ;  and  as  I  knew  she  would  be  a 
discreet  and  sympathizing  confidante,  and  we  hap- 
pened to  be  alone  that  evening,  I  resumed  my  seat 
and  told  her  the  whole  story  from  beginning  to 
end,  of  course  blaming  nobody  but  myself. 


134  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

When  I  had  finished,  she  thanked  me  and  said, 
with  moist  eyes,  that  she  would  not  laugh  at  me 
again. 

"No  alarm  yet  from  Prudence?"  No;  but  I 
had  not  felt  so  much  like  laughing  for  a  year  or 
more.  A  burden  seemed  to  have  dropped  from  my 
heart,  which  began  to  beat  again  with  its  old,  free 
swing.  From  that  time  we  were  more  like  brother 
and  sister  than  ever  before.  There  was  a  secret 
between  us  which  we  sometimes  spoke  of  in  a  calm, 
quiet  way,  as  of  a  grief  long  passed.  My  evenings 
were  now  frequently  passed  at  that  house,  and  very 
pleasant  they  were,  with  their  music  and  drawing, 
—  which  latter  I  came  near  forgetting  to  add.  I 
began  to  give  her  drawing-lessons. 

"  Prudence  must  surely  be  sound  asleep  ?  "  No, 
she  was  watching  our  movements. 

Bulwer,  in  one  of  his  romances,  quotes  Roche- 
foucauld as  saying,  "  A  man  is  never  more  likely 
to  form  a  hopeful  attachment  than  when  his  heart 
is  softened  by  a  hopeless  attachment  to  another ; " 
and  he  might  have  added,  no  good  woman  ever 
thinks  the  less  of  a  man  for  his  having  suffered 
from  and  conquered  a  hopeless  but  worthy  love. 
So  it  would  seem  as  if  we  were  in  some  danger  at 
that  time.  Prudence  was  watching  us,  but  declined 
to  interfere. 

I  must  confess  that  I  was  ready  for  anything, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN.  135 

which  the  following  little  incident  happening  a  few 
months  afterward  will  prove. 

One  evening  my  lady  brought  forward  a  book 
which  she  called  her  "  Sentimental  Album,"  in 
which  her  friends  were  invited  to  write  their 
names,  with  some  sentiment  attached,  either  origi- 
nal or  borrowed.  She  invited  me  to  write  some- 
thing in  it.  It  seemed  to  me  a  good  opportunity 
for  an  experiment.  After  thinking  a  moment  I 
wrote  the  following  impromptu,  if  it  can  be  called 
so  "  after  thinking  a  moment  "  :  — 

Wouldst  have  a  sentiment  coming  from  me,  — 
One  from  the  heart  that 's  sent,  open  and  free? 

Choose  what  thou  'dst  like  the  best,  — 
Friendship  the  slenderest, 
Or  love  the  tenderest; 

And  I  agree 

That  it  shall  be 

From  me  to  thee,  — 
If  that  thou  renderest 

The  same  to  me. 

"  Mighty  independent ! "  I  hear  you  say.  You, 
Miss,  perhaps  would  have  turned  your  back  upon 
rue.  But  when  older  you  will  be  better  able  to 
discriminate.  Enough  that  my  darling  understood 
me.  I  watched  her  face  as  she  read  it.  A  serious 
expression  came  over  it,  but  not  of  displeasure. 
She  quietly  closed  the  book  and  put  it  away  with- 


136  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

out  a  word.  Nor  did  I  ask  any  question.  Prudence 
was  satisfied.  And  from  that  moment  I  knew  that 
I  had  some tli ing  to  work  for ;  and  I  did  work  with 
a  will  and  a  happy  heart. 

My  little  cabinet  husts  had  by  this  time  become 
so  popular  that  I  was  seldom  without  an  order. 
Many  of  my  musical  friends  were  desirous  of 
having  their  portraits  in  a  form  that  could  be  so 
cheaply  multiplied  for  friends.  Among  my  sitters 
were  George  J.  Webb,  George  F.  Hayter,  Charles  C. 
Perkins,  and  other  musicians.  But  there  was  one 
man  whose  "  godlike  "  head  I  had  had  in  my  mind 
ever  since  I  was  a  boy  and  began  to  paint,  resolved 
that  as  soon  as  I  could  paint  well  enough  I  would 
attempt  to  make  a  portrait  of  him.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  after  my  short  experience,  I  now  felt 
confident  that  I  could  model  a  head  of  Webster.  I 
made  the  attempt,  —  a  cabinet  bust,  —  which  when 
finished,  I  was  satisfied  was  a  failure,  and  destroyed. 
His  face  was  constantly  before  me  in  colossal  form. 
I  felt  cramped  and  trammelled  in  so  small  a  com- 
pass. I  was  not  discouraged  by  this  failure,  but  re- 
solved that  my  first  life-size  bust  should  be  of  Daniel 
Webster,  and  that  it  should  be  begun  immediately. 
I  did  not  possess  a  tresploo,  or  modelling-stand, 
but  I  did  have  at  hand  an  ash-barrel,  which  I  at 
once  pressed  into  service  for  that  purpose,  by  plac- 
ing a  board  across  the  top  with  a  round  hole  in  the 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  137 

middle  of  it,  through  which  I  thrust  a  stake,  reach- 
ing to  and  resting  on  the  bottom  of  the  barrel,  and 
extending  up  into  the  clay  to  support  it.  This 
enabled  me  to  turn  it  about.  But  I  should  have 
said  I  had  two  boards,  —  one  of  which  was  nailed 
to  the  top  of  the  barrel,  and  the  other  the  clay 
rested  upon.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  friction  be- 
tween the  two  in  turning  the  bust  about,  but  I 
did  n't  mind  that ;  I  was  strong  in  the  arms,  and  it 
was  better  than  waiting  to  have  a  trespolo  made. 

The  bust  was  begun,  and  I  was  surprised  to  find 
that  with  the  freedom  of  handling  the  size  sug- 
gested, it  promised  completion  in  less  time  than  I 
had  been  obliged  to  devote  to  cabinet  busts.  While 
I  was  at  work  upon  it,  the  announcement  was  made 
that  the  great  man  was  to  arrive  on  a  certain  day, 
and  be  received  and  escorted  through  the  city  on 
his  way  to  Marshfield.  As  the  procession  was  to 
pass  through  Tremont  Street,  you  may  be  sure  I 
was  at  the  door  to  have  a  good  look  at  him.  We 
little  thought  that  he  was  then  going  home  to  die. 
But  so  it  was.  It  seemed  but  a  very  few  days 
before  the  bulletins  began  to  record  his  rapid  de- 
cline, and  then  came  the  final  announcement  of  his 
death. 

My  bust  was  finished  but  a  day  or  two  before, 
and  as  you  may  suppose,  at  such  a  time  attracted  a 
good  deal  of  attention.  It  was  pronounced  a  won- 


133  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

derful  success,  and  numerous  demands  were  made 
for  casts  of  it.  T  put  a  subscription  paper  in  front 
of  it,  and  in  a  very  few  days  had  nearly  a  hundred 
names  upon  it.  Among  the  most  prominent  were 
the  artists  Chester  Harding  and  Joseph  Ames. 
The  former,  who  was  a  particular  friend  of  Webster, 
and  had  painted  him  several  times  from  life,  told 
me  he  wanted  my  bust  for  a  foundation  for  a  new 
portrait  of  him.  Ames  painted  his  celebrated 
picture  from  the  same.  Alvan  Clark,  the  painter 
and  astronomer,  was  very  enthusiastic,  introducing 
several  subscribers. 

This  bust,  my  first  of  life  size,  is  the  one  I  have 
used,  without  alteration,  for  my  several  statues  of 
the  great  man. 

But  it  is  high  time  I  again  picked  up  the  thread 
of  my  love-story. 

My  dear  young  lady,  to  whom  I  am  telling  it,  I 
trust  you  will  pardon  me  for  skipping  about  in 
such  an  extraordinary  manner,  and  leaving  you  to 
skip  all  this  studio  twaddle.  But  I  don't  exactly 
know  how  to  avoid  it.  I  had  spoken  no  word  of 
love  to  my  darling  since  I  spoiled  her  album  for 
her.  But  one  day  after  having  counted  my  ready 
money,  and  finding  that  I  had  nearly  doubled  my 
former  little  "  Italian  fund,"  I  told  her  I  was  again 
thinking  of  going  to  Italy,  but  did  not  want  to  go 
alone  this  time.  Then  I  asked  her  seriously  if  she 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  139 

would  go  with  me.  She  answered  that  if  I  really 
wished  it,  and  was  confident  that  we  should  always 
have  bread  to  eat,  she  was  ready  to  go  to  the 
world's  end  with  me.  Upon  which  I  gave  her  a 
solemn  promise  that  she  should  never  go  hungry, 
and  that  her  happiness  should  be  the  end  and  aim 
of  my  life.  So  that  was  settled.  "  And  not  a  word 
of  love  ? "  I  leave  you  to  imagine,  Miss,  what  more 
was  said  and  done ;  and  I  feel  quite  sure  of  your 
capacity  to  fill  the  blank. 

But,  "  The  course  of  true  love,"  etc.  When  I 
spoke  to  her  mother  she  strongly  objected  to  the 
engagement,  chiefly  on  account  of  her  want  of 
faith  in  my  future  prospects  and  my  ability  to 
support  a  wife.  I  could  not  blame  her,  dear 
woman.  She  could  not  understand  the  sudden 
brightening  of  my  prospects  by  the  change  of  pro- 
fession which  I  urged.  No,  she  could  not  listen  to 
anything  so  rash. 

The  next  day  I  received  a  little  note  from  my 
darling,  overflowing  with  love  and  tears.  Her 
mother  had  been  talking  to  her  till  she  did  not 
know  what  it  was  her  duty  to  do.  I  wrote  back  a 
few  comforting  words,  with  a  promise  to  see  her 
the  next  day.  Now,  when  I  assure  you  that  this 
dear  little  note  of  hers  was  the  first  love-epistle  I 
had  ever  received  from  any  woman,  you  will  hardly 
wonder  that  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it  or 


140  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN. 

where  to  hide  it.  But  I  did  hide  it  so  effectually 
that  I  never  could  find  it  afterward.  It  turned 
up,  however,  about  twenty  years  later,  in  a  most 
amusing  way,  which  with  your  permission  I  will 
relate. 

When  I  went  abroad  the  third  time  I  gave  away 
all  my  old  "  studio  truck "  that  had  been  stored 
away  for  years.  Some  years  after  this  I  received 
a  letter  from  my  nephew,  Edgar  Newcomb,  quoting 
several  expressions  which  I  well  remembered  were 
in  that  precious  little  note,  and  asking  how  much  I 
would  give  for  the  original. 

I  was  puzzled  and  annoyed  that  it  should  have 
met  any  eyes  but  my  own.  But  I  knew  the  boy, 
and  wrote  back  that  I  would  give  more  to  know 
how  it  came  into  his  hands.  In  answer,  he  in- 
formed me  that  among  the  things  which  I  gave 
him  from  my  old  studio  was  a  cast  of  one  of  my 
little  busts ;  that  one  day,  years  afterward,  upon 
taking  it  down  from  its  bracket  to  dust  it,  a 
crumpled  paper  dropped  out  from  the  hollow  in 
the  head.  Curiosity  prompted  him  to  read  it,  and 
thinking  it  would  be  a  good  joke  to  mystify  his 
uncle  and  aunt,  whose  natural  amiability  he  well 
knew,  he  quoted  those  well- remembered  words, 
and  afterward  sent  the  original.  It  only  goes  to 
show  what  a  queer  state  of  mind  I  must  have 
been  in  to  have  chosen  such  a  remarkable  place  to 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  141 

hide  my  first  love-letter  in,  and  to  forget  where  I 
put  it. 

To  return  to  Hancock  Street.  I  called  next  day, 
and  fortunately  found  my  darling  alone.  At  the 
end  of  five  minutes  we  were  more  firmly  engaged 
than  ever.  We  decided,  however,  to  move  quietly 
and  wait  patiently,  and  to  say  nothing  more  to  her 
mother  till  I  could  prove  to  her  beyond  a  doubt 
that  I  could  command  the  means  to  support  her 
daughter  and  make  her  happy. 

All  this  was  before  the  Webster  success,  to  which 
I  will  now  return.  I  had  not  yet  exhausted  that 
subject.  A  public  statue  was  soon  talked  of,  and 
subscriptions  were  fast  pouring  in  for  that  subject. 
Now,  I  was  not  so  foolish  as  to  suppose  for  a  mo- 
ment that  such  a  work  would  be  intrusted  to  me, 
who  had  never  made  a  statue  ;  but  why  should  not 
I  try  my  hand  at  a  figure  in  small  ?  It  would  be 
wanted  in  that  size  if  it  should  turn  out  as  success- 
ful as  my  large  head.  I  resolved  to  make  the  at- 
tempt. Having  nearly  completed  it,  I  had  the  sat- 
isfaction one  morning,  while  looking  at  it  from  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  of  seeing  it  slowly  tip  for- 
ward and  go  crashing  on  to  the  floor.  In  my  im- 
patience to  begin  it,  I  had  taken  the  first  thing  at 
hand  to  use  as  a  support  for  the  clay,  which  thing 
happened  to  be  an  old  umbrella-stick,  when  it 
should  have  been  an  iron  of  the  same  size.  The  only 


142  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN. 

wonder  to  me  —  when  I  found  what  a  mass  of  clay 
I  had  to  pick  up  —  was  that  it  stood  half  as  long 
as  it  did. 

I  was  not  discouraged  by  this  accident.  I  never 
"  cry  for  spilt  milk,"  especially  when  I  know  it  was 
spilt  through  my  own  stupidity.  Strangely  enough, 
falling  as  it  did,  the  head  was  the  only  part  not 
entirely  ruined.  That  was  hardly  injured  at  all. 
As  soon  as  I  couli  get  an  iron  made,  I  was  at 
it  again ;  and  you  may  be  sure  it  did  not  fall  this 
time. 

It  was  finished,  and  —  well,  there  was  something 
in  it,  I  hardly  know  what  it  was,  that  hit  hard. 
The  first  day  it  was  seen,  I  had  the  very  tempting 
offer  of  five  hundred  dollars  for  the  model  and  the 
right  to  multiply  it.  I  accepted  the  offer  with 
avidity,  feeling  relieved  from  any  further  responsi- 
bility. The  shrewd  art-dealer  who  bought  it  must 
have  made  five  thousand  dollars  out  of  it,  at  the 
very  least.  But  I  could  not  have  done  it ;  so  I 
never  murmured,  and  was  only  too  delighted  at 
the  success,  and  to  receive  later  from  the  Char- 
itable Mechanics'  Association  a  first-class  gold 
medal  for  it. 

I  had  by  this  time  become  again  reconciled  to 
my  palette.  As  two  eminent  artists  had  used  my 
bust  to  paint  Webster  from,  why  should  not  I  use 
it  and  also  my  statuette  for  the  same  purpose  ?  I 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  143 

painted  a  head  life-size,  which  I  thought  a  failure. 
I  do  not  know  what  became  of  it;  1  cannot  re- 
member ever  having  destroyed  it.  Then  taking  a 
large  canvas,  five  by  four  feet,  I  painted  a  full 
length,  half  life-size,  very  carefully  studied ;  making 
an  effective  composition,  and  one  that  I  have  always 
remembered  pleasantly.  This  picture  I  was  swin- 
dled out  of  by  a  copperplate  engraver  by  the  name 
of  Glover,  who  offered  me  six  hundred  dollars  for 
it  with  the  privilege  of  engraving  it ;  which  offer  I 
accepted,  and  was  innocent  enough  to  take  his  note 
for  the  amount  payable  in  three  months,  and  let 
him  take  the  picture  away,  as  he  was  in  a  hurry  to 
begin  the  engraving.  Before  the  note  had  ma- 
tured, he  and  the  picture  had  both  disappeared, 
and  I  never  saw  either  of  them  again.  I  am  not 
much  interested  in  him,  but  I  would  like  to  know 
where  the  little  full-length  Webster  is  now. 

When  I  discovered  that  I  could  model  a  life-size 
bust  iii  the  same  time  it  took  me  to  make  my  little 
cabinet  busts,  I  resolved  to  make  no  more  of  the 
latter.  But  I  found  it  was  not  so  easy  a  matter  to 
decline  work  when  it  was  offered  ;  especially  as  the 
first  applicant  after  this  was  an  old  and  honored 
friend,  Hon.  Samuel  A.  Eliot,  father  to  the  pres- 
ent President  of  Harvard  College.  When  I  told 
him  the  reason  of  my  decision,  —  that  it  cost  me  as 
much  labor  to  make  the  small  as  the  life-size  and 


144  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

at  only  half  the  price,  —  he  replied  pleasantly  that 
he  did  not  want  the  life-size,  and  he  did  want  one  of 
my  little  ones,  but  should  insist  upon  paying  the 
price  of  the  large  one.  What  could  I  do  then  but 
gratefully  acquiesce  ? 

.Now  it  seemed  to  me  the  time  had  arrived  to 
make  a  second  demand  for  the  hand  of  my  dar- 
ling. As  her  father  happened  to  be  at  home  at 
this  time,  —  his  business  kept  him  a  good  deal  in 
New  York,  —  I  resolved  to  ask  him,  as  the  proper 
thing  to  be  done,  and,  as  I  thought,  with  a  better 
chance  of  success. 

Taking  the  opportunity  of  a  walk  with  him  one 
evening,  I  broached  the  subject  to  him.  I  told 
him  frankly  I  was  going  to  Italy  to  study,  and  I 
wanted  to  make  his  daughter  Nelly  my  wife  and 
take  her  with  me.  He  seemed  prepared  for  this, 
and  to  have  watched  my  late  progress.  I  told  him 
I  had  saved  two  thousand  dollars,  and  had  one  or 
two  small  commissions  to  put  in  marble  in  Italy, 
and  that  I  felt  confident  we  could  with  economy 
spend  two  years  abroad  and  return  upon  that 
amount,  even  if  I  earned  nothing  in  the  mean 
time. 

He  answered  that  he  had  full  confidence  in  me 
and  my  future  career,  and  if  it  would  make  Nelly 
happy  he  should  not  object.  Now  I  was  all  pre- 
pared to  meet  her  dear,  careful  mother.  She  said 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  145 

that  in  view  of  all  the  circumstances  of  the  past 
year,  and  as  her  daughter's  heart  seemed  so  firmly 
set  upon  it,  she  no  longer  felt  justified  in  with- 
holding her  consent.  So  she  was  won  over  at 
last ;  and  I  do  not  think  she  ever  regretted  it,  for 
she  spent  many  happy  years  and  ended  her  days 
with  us  in  Italy. 

And  now,  my  dear  young  lady,  hoping  that  you 
have  not  gone  to  sleep  over  this  prosy,  common- 
place courtship,  I  must  leave  you  for  a  while  to  go 
back  and  pick  up  another  thread  of  my  narrative, 
which  may  not  interest  you  at  all.  But  you  shall 
be  called  in  time  for  the  wedding. 


10 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IT  will  be  remembered  that  when  last  speaking 
of  the  vocal  theme  of  my  fugue,  I  left  my  Eve 
most  ungallantly,  and  absently  strayed  into  my 
studio.  But  she  must  have  forgiven  me,  for  by  the 
record  I  find  myself  the  next  season  again  wonder- 
ing and  praising  God  with  her  in  the  Garden. 

That  year  I  sustained  not  only  the  role  of  Adam, 
but  sang  all  the  other  bass  solos  in  the  oratorio. 
From  that  time  on  for  years,  I  was  not  allowed  to 
hide  myself  in  the  chorus ;  although  it  was  such 
happiness  to  me  to  sing  that  I  generally  shouted 
through  choruses  and  all.  Miss  Anna  Stone  was  an- 
other who  could  not  be  silent,  but  poured  out  that 
glorious  voice  of  hers  through  and  above  everything. 

In  looking  over  some  old  programmes  which  I 
happen  to  have  preserved  since  that  time,  I  find 
that  the  earliest  among  them  is  of  Rossini's  u  Moses 
in  Egypt,"  dated  1846.  But  I  had  sung  in  the 
"  Creation,"  and  I  think  in  Handel's  "  Messiah," 
previous  to  that. 

I  well  remember  the  first  performance  of  "  Mo- 
ses," for  I  was  called  in  at  the  last  moment  to 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  147 

assume  the  part  of  Pharaoh,  King  of  Egypt.  The 
part  was  originally  assigned  to  Mr.  By  ram,  who  had 
studied  and  practised  it  at  all  the  rehearsals,  but 
who  was  taken  ill  during  the  week  before  it  was  to 
be  brought  out.  Mr.  Hayter  came  to  me  two  or 
three  days  before  the  Sunday  announced  for  the 
performance,  bringing  with  him  the  oratorio.  In 
great  distress  he  begged  me  to  take  the  part  and 
learn  it  in  three  days,  to  be  performed  Sunday 
evening.  I,  of  course,  was  frightened  at  the  idea, 
and  declined  to  attempt  it,  as  it  would  have  to 
be  without  rehearsal  with  chorus  or  orchestra. 
But  Mr.  Hayter  was  a  man  who  would  not  be 
put  off.  He  said  there  was  no  one  else  to  do  it, 
and  the  posters  were  out  for  the  performance,  and 
it  must  be  done.  He  would  go  over  it  with  me 
as  often  as  I  wished,  and  would  have  the  other 
soloists  meet  me  for  the  concerted  pieces. 

Think  of  learning  a  principal  part  in  such  an 
opera  in  three  days  !  To  have  sung  it  as  an  opera 
would  not  have  been  possible  for  me,  for  my  mem- 
ory is  not  of  the  best ;  but  with  the  music  in  my 
hand  it  was  quite  another  thing,  but  bad  enough 
at  that,  to  be  obliged  to  sing  it  before  the  public 
without  a  rehearsal,  and  such  a  coward  as  I 
was  too.  Well,  I  was  fairly  driven  into  it  at  the 
point  of  the  bayonet;  and  I  did  it  after  an 
appeal  from  the  President  to  the  audience  for  its 


148  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND  TEN. 

indulgence  under  the  circumstances.  I  think  I 
had  its  sympathy  all  through;  for  I  never  before 
was  so  warmly  received,  or  so  highly  complimented 
in  the  journals. 

Here  let  me  apologize,  once  for  all,  for  introdu- 
cing from  time  to  time  a  word  of  praise  awarded  to 
me  in  those  days,  —  words  of  encouragement  then, 
and  now  the  only  tribute  to  the  memory  of  a  voice 
that  gave  some  pleasure  in  its  day,  but  will  soon 
be  hushed  forever.  And  if  my  vanity  be  appeased 
by  repeating  a  very  few  of  these  words,  I  trust  I 
may  be  pardoned  for  saying  nothing  about  the 
adverse  criticisms. 

The  oratorio  of  "  Moses  in  Egypt "  was  per- 
formed fourteen  times  in  the  winter  of  1846-1847. 
The  musical  critic  of  the  "  Boston  Daily  Times," 
in  a  lengthy  article  on  the  third  performance,  Dec. 
23, 1846,  thus  speaks  of  the  part  of  Pharaoh :  — 

"  The  part  of  Pharaoh  was  very  well  performed  by 
Mr.  Ball,  —  a  gentleman  who  has  a  richness  and  mel- 
lowness of  voice  rarely  to  be  found.  In  passages  ex- 
pressive of  humiliation  and  sorrow  he  was  very  good. 
The  effort  of  Pharaoh  to  discover  the  cause  of  the 
secret  anguish  of  his  son  and  comfort  him  ;  the  ten- 
derness, anxiety,  sympathy,  and  paternal  solicitude 
•  manifested  on  his  account,  were  most  touchingly  con- 
ceived and  beautifully  expressed,  in  such  soothing, 
comforting,  affectionate  tones  as  would  be  addressed 
by  a  parent  to  a  child  in  deep  affliction.  The  dismay 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  149 

and  anguish  of  Pharaoh  at  his  son's  death,  c  Oh,  my 
son,  dearest  son,  how  hast  thou  fallen ! '  was  imitated 
to  the  life,  and  sung  with  deep  pathos." 

After  the  fourth  performance,  the  same  critic 
says :  — 

"  Mr.  Ball  in  the  part  of  Pharaoh  improves  with 
every  performance.  Few  could  sing  the  part  so  well. 
In  addition  to  his  superior  voice  he  possesses  a  rare 
faculty  of  expression.  Those  passages  expressive  of 
the  haughtiness  and  insolent  pride  of  the  King,  he  sang 
with  more  energy  than  usual,  and  with  a  better  ex- 
hibition of  this  trait ;  and  where  requiring  an  expres- 
sion of  tenderness,  humility,  and  distress,  with  a  deeper 
fervor  of  feeling  than  ever." 

During  this  season  I  sang  the  bass  solos  in 
Handel's  "Messiah,"  at  Christmas  time;  and,  in 
two  performances  of  his  "  Samson,"  the  part  of 
Manoah,  father  of  Samson. 

In  1847-1848  I  appeared  twice  as  High  Priest  in 
Neukomm's  "  David,"  of  which  a  critic  remarks : 
"  Mr.  Ball,  of  whom  we  have  had  to  speak  favor- 
ably often,  sang  the  part  of  the  High  Priest  very 
finely."  After  this,  four  performances  of  "  Moses." 

In  1848-1849  I  sustained  I  forget  what  part  in 
"  Judas  Maccabeus  "  four  times,  and  also  appeared 
in  Rossini's  "  Stabat  Mater,"  given  by  the  Germania 
Musical  Society,  with  part  of  the  Italian  Opera 
troupe.  Again  quoting  the  critic :  — 


150  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN. 

"The  noble  quartette,  *  Quando  Corpus/  sung  by 
Tedesco,  Pico,  Vietti,  and  our  townsman  Mr.  Ball 
(whose  rich,  mellow,  and  even  bass  tones  in  this  and 
the  solo,  '  Pro  Peccatis,'  called  forth  the  admiration  of 
the  whole  audience),  was  encored." 

This  season  was  also  made  memorable  by  the 
first  performance  of  Mendelssohn's  "Elijah,"  to 
conduct  which  the  services  of  Mr.  Charles  E.  Horn 
were  secured.  An  English  friend  of  his  —  a  bari- 
tone singer — came  over  with  him,  or  by  his  induce- 
ment, whom  he  was  desirous  of  having  engaged  to 
take  the  part  of  Elijah.  But  after  one  rehearsal 
the  Society  protested  against  his  engagement,  as, 
although  he  probably  had  been  a  good  singer  in 
his  day,  his  voice  was  now  so  worn  and  thin  as 
to  be  wholly  ineffective  in  the  part.  I  was  then 
formally  invited  to  be  the  Elijah,  much  to  the 
chagrin  of  Mr.  Horn,  who  had  no  faith  in  amateur 
performances.  I  was  a  stranger  to  him,  and  he 
did  not  believe  I  could  do  it,  —  would  like  to  hear 
me  sing  it.  Now,  I  did  not  wish  to  sing  it  in  the 
presence  of  the  Society  before  I  had  won  his  ap- 
proval. I  therefore  proposed  to  meet  him  at  his 
room  and  go  over  the  part  to  his  accompaniment 
and  for  his  judgment.  I  had  looked  it  over  and 
become  fairly  familiar  with  it  while  the  choruses 
were  being  practised. 

When  I  met  Mr.  Horn  at  his  room,  and  had  run 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  151 

through  two  or  three  recitatives  and  minor  bits 
without  a  word  from  him,  he  abruptly  turned  to 
the  great  song,  "Is  not  his  word  like  a  fire?" 
with  the  remark  that  that  was  the  criterion.  As 
it  happened,  knowing  the  difficulties  of  this  terri- 
ble song,  I  had  given  it  my  particular  attention. 
When  I  had  sung  it  through,  he  turned  to  me  and 
said  quietly,  "  You  can  do  it."  After  this  we  were 
the  best  of  friends  as  long  as  he  lived. 

Mr.  Charles  C.  Perkins,  in  his  "  History  of  the 
Handel  and  Haydn  Society,"  says :  — 

"  The  first  rehearsal  of  this  great  work  took  place  on 
Jan.  16,  1848,  and  the  first  performance  —  after  only 
six  rehearsals  —  on  February  13,  with  a  chorus  and 
orchestra  of  nearly  two  hundred  performers.  The  solo 

singers   were :   Thomas  Ball,   Elijah ;   Mr. Jones 

(English) ,   Obadiah ;    E.   Tayler,   Ahab ;    Miss  Anna 

Stone,   the    Queen ;     Miss  ,   the  Widow ;     Miss 

Emmons,  the  Angel.  According  to  the  newspapers  of 
the  day,  the  hall  was  crowded,  and  the  applause  —  not 
customary  on  Sunday  night  —  was  hardly  restrainable. 
Such  success,  says  the  '  Chronotype/  was  never  before 
known  to  attend  a  first  performance.  In  the  trio,  *  Lift 
thine  eyes/  Miss  Stone's  voice  was,  perhaps,  too 
prominent ;  but  in  the  declamatory  airs,  '  Hear  ye, 
Israel/  and  '  Thus  saith  the  Lord/  its  unequalled 
brilliancy  told  with  wonderful  power.  Mr.  Ball  sang 
with  feeling,  power,  and  dignity ;  but  in  '  Is  not  his 
word/  he  wanted  fire." 


152  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

Yes,  I  should  have  wanted  fire  for  that  song  had 
I  been  glowing  with  furnace  heat. 

This  great  work  was  given  nine  consecutive 
Sunday  evenings  in  1848.  I  sang  the  part  of 
Adam  and  all  the  other  bass  solos  in  the  "  Crea- 
tion," three  times,  then  three  times  more  of 
"  Elijah,"  and  closed  the  season  with  two  more 
performances  of  the  "  Creation." 

In  1849  I  sang  the  bass  solos  in  the  "  Messiah," 
with  Madam  Anna  Bishop  as  soprano,  twice  re- 
peated. Then  one  in  "  Moses,"  after  which  Mr.  J. 
L.  Hatton,  an  eminent  English  singer  and  com- 
poser, sang  the  "  Elijah "  in  two  performances, 
closing  the  season. 

In  1850  Donizetti's  opera,  "  The  Martyrs,"  was 
brought  out  as  an  oratorio  with  English  words,  in 
which  I  sang  the  part  of  Felix.  This  was  re- 
peated nine  times.  Saroni,  of  the  New  York 
"  Musical  Times,"  in  writing  of  these  perform- 
ances, speaks  of  Mr.  Ball  as  singing  his  part  "  with 
taste  and  discretion." 

In  1851,  Mr.  Jonas  Chickering  declining  a  re- 
nomination,  Mr.  Charles  C.  Perkins  was  chosen 
President.  The  season  opened  with  the  "  Crea- 
tion;" Signor  Guidi,  of  Max  Maretzek's  opera 
troupe,  singing  the  tenor  part,  and  I  the  entire 
bass  solos.  After  three  performances,  "Elijah" 
was  again  resumed,  and  repeated  three  times. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  153 

Previous  to  the  first  rehearsal,  I  received  the  fol- 
lowing note  from  our  new  President:  — 

DEAR  MR.  BALL,  —  I  called  twice  yesterday  to  see  you, 
but  not  finding  you  at  home,  I  write  this  note  to  inform 
you  that  we  purpose  to  begin  the  rehearsals  of  the 
' '  Elijah  "  on  Sunday  next ;  and  that  if  you  can  look 
over  your  part  so  as  to  help  us  then,  I  shall  be  much 
obliged  to  you.  I  shall  be  at  home  to-morrow  evening  ; 
if  you  are  disengaged,  please  let  me  know. 
Yours  very  truly, 

CHARLES  C.  PERKINS. 
WEDNESDAY,  Nov.  6. 

P.  S.  You  know,  of  course,  that  the  part  of  Elijah 
has  been  permanently  and  wholly  assigned  to  you  for 
the  concerts. 

The  season  closed  with  two  performances  of  the 
"  Creation." 

I  again  quote  from  Mr.  Perkins's  History  of  the 
Society ,  in  which  he  says  :  — 

"  The  success  of4  Elijah '  was  due  in  so  great  a  meas- 
ure to  Mr.  Ball,  that  the  Society  moved  to  give  him  a 
solid  proof  of  their  appreciation  of  his  services.  Ac- 
cordingly, on  April  28,  the  Secretary  sent  him  a  letter 
saying  that,  — 

" '  As,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  the  concerts 
have  been  sustained  by  the  public,  the  government 
wishes  to  express  its  feelings  of  gratitude  to  those  who 
have  assisted  gratuitously  at  them ;  and  in  view  of  Mr. 
Ball's  past  services,  and  the  able  way  in  which  he  sang 


154  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

the  "  Elijah,"  beg  to  offer  him  a  testimonial  of  a  purse 
containing  one  hundred  dollars  in  gold  and  a  watch, 
inscribed  "  A  tribute  to  the  vocal  merits  of  Thomas 
Ball,  from  the  Handel  and  Haydn  Society,  Boston, 
April,  1851." 

4 ' '  With  the  best  wishes  for  your  health  and  pros- 
perity ;  and  our  hopes  that  your  purse,  like  the  widow's 
cruse  of  oil,  may  fail  not  till  Time  in  his  course  round 
the  dial  of  your  watch  shall  find  you,  like  the  Elijah  of 
old,  ready  to  die,  we  remain,  etc.* 

"  To  this  letter  Mr.  Ball  replied  on  the  30th,  saying 
that  he  should  always  look  upon  the  watch  with 
pride  and  pleasure,  — « pride  that  I  have  been  called 
upon  to  take  so  conspicuous  a  part  in  the  concerts  of 
so  great  a  Society,  and  pleasure  in  possessing  such  a 
proof  that  my  efforts,  however  unsuccessful  in  my  own 
estimation,  have  been  approved  by  you.' " 

Of  1852  I  have  but  one  programme,  that  of 
u  Samson,"  in  which  I  appeared  I  forget  how 
many  times. 

In  1853  the  only  programme  I  have  preserved  is 
of  the  first  performance  in  America  of  Beethoven's 
"  Ninth  Symphony  ; "  performed  by  the  Germania 
Musical  Society,  in  which  I  sustained  the  bass  in 
the  vocal  part,  —  in  acknowledgment  of  which  ser- 
vices the  Society  presented  me  with  a  valuable 
seal  ring.  In  1854,  the  last  season  previous  to 
my  departure  for  Italy,  I  sang  in  "  Moses  "  several 
times,  and  I  do  not  remember  what  else. 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  155 

There !  If  any  one  is  inclined  to  disbelieve  in  my 
past  vocal  performances,  they  surely  will  not  doubt 
my  present  ability  to  "  blow  my  own  trumpet ; " 
and  when  I  assure  them  that  I  never  before  in  my 
life  have  practised  that  instrument,  my  perform- 
ance will  appear  the  more  surprising.  In  fact, 
ever  since  I  began  this  Autobiography,  I  have  felt 
as  if  Fame  had  come  to  me  with  a  trumpet  —  as 
Hamlet  approached  Guildenstern  with  the  pipe  — 
and  insisted  on  my  playing  upon  it. 

By  the  by,  among  my  old  programmes,  I  found 
one  of  a  concert  to  which  I  must  devote  a  few 
words,  as  it  was  the  occasion  of  my  making  the 
acquaintance  of  a  young  lady  who  was  afterward 
raised  to  a  position  she  little  dreamed  of  at  that 
time. 

Signor  Guidi  of  the  Italian  Opera  troupe,  who 
sang  with  us  one  season,  was  not  only  a  charming 
singer,  but  a  modest,  unassuming  gentleman,  whose 
warm  friendship  I  won,  as  being,  in  his  language, 
simpatico. 

At  the  end  of  the  season  he  went  to  Springfield 
to  form  a  class  of  young  ladies  for  the  study  of  the 
higher  branches  of  singing.  After  a  few  months 
he  wrote  to  me  to  say  that  he  was  about  to  give  a 
concert  to  bring  out  one  of  his  pupils  who  had  a 
most  remarkable  voice,  and  to  ask  me  if  I  could  not 
take  a  holiday  and  run  up  and  assist  him  on  that 


156  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

occasion.  I  went,  and  in  the  "  green-room  "  pre- 
vious to  the  concert,  was  presented  to  Miss  Elise 
Hensler,  the  promising  pupil,  —  a  young  lady  of 
about  seventeen ;  tall  and  good-looking,  with  a  face 
strong  and  serious ;  her  manner  modest  and  rather 
shy.  I  was  also  introduced  to  her  sweet  little  sister 
of  perhaps  fourteen  years,  who  was  also  a  pupil,  but 
not  at  all  shy.  This  was  Miss  Louise,  —  a  bright, 
sparkling  little  body,  with  a  face  brimming  over 
with  fun.  She  did  not  appear  in  the  programme, 
but  kept  up  the  spirits  of  those  who  did. 

Miss  Hensler  sang  her  pieces  remarkably  well? 
with  a  voice  fully  up  to  my  expectations.  I  ap- 
peared three  times  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  — 
with  the  bass  aria  "  As  I  view  now,"  from  "  Son- 
nambula,"  J.  L.  Button's  "Day  and  Night,"  and 
the  Serenade  from  "  Fra  Diavolo,"  with  guitar  ac- 
companiment. This  was  the  only  time,  barring 
my  midnight  prowls,  that  I  ever  appeared  in  pub- 
lic with  that  sentimental  instrument. 

But  it  pleased  more  than  either  of  the  other  two 
songs.  I  returned  home  the  next  morning  charmed 
with  my  trip,  and  bearing  away  with  me  a  very 
pleasant  impression  of  the  Hensler  sisters. 

Not  very  long  after  this  I  was  walking  down 
Tremont  Street,  when  I  heard  a  sweet  voice  calling 
my  name.  I  turned,  and  saw  little  Miss  Louise 
tripping  after  me,  with  face  smiling  from  chin  to 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  157 

hair,  and  her  dignified  sister  waiting  in  the  dis- 
tance. Our  meeting  again  seemed  a  mutual  de- 
light. They  told  me  they  had  come  to  Boston  to 
live,  giving  me  their  address.  It  happened  at  this 
time  that  a  vacancy  occurred  in  the  quartette  choir 
of  the  King's  Chapel,  where  I  poured  forth  every 
Sunday.  We  were  looking  out  for  a  soprano.  Dr. 
George  Derby  was  our  tenor,  and  had  charge  of  the 
choir.  I  told  him  of  Miss  Hensler,  of  whom  he 
said  he  had  heard  as  the  possessor  of  a  superior 
voice,  and  was  delighted  to  learn  that  I  knew  her 
and  verified  the  report.  He  insisted  upon  my  call- 
ing immediately  and  introducing  him.  We  went ; 
he  heard  her  sing,  and  the  result  was,  she  was  at 
once  engaged  to  fill  the  vacancy  in  our  choir,  where 
by  her  modest  bearing  and  superb  voice  she  soon 
won  the  hearts  of  the  whole  congregation  to  such 
a  degree  that  at  the  end  of  two  years,  I  think, 
learning  that  it  was  her  desire  to  go  to  Italy  to 
study,  they  contributed  the  means  to  send  her 
abroad  and  support  her  two  years.  I  think  this 
was  mainly  through  the  efforts  of  Dr.  Derby  ;  and 
his  last  words  when  he  left  me  a  year  afterward  on 
board  the  steamer  were,"  If  you  meet  Miss  Hensler 
in  Florence,  look  after  her,  that  she  wants  for 
nothing." 

But  when  I  arrived  in  Florence,  she  had  already 
left,  after  having  studied  a  year  with  Signor  Ro- 


158  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

mani,  and  appearing  once  or  twice  in  opera  suc- 
cessfully. She  returned  to  Boston  while  I  was 
still  abroad,  and  after  singing  there  one  season,  re- 
turned with  the  troupe  to  Europe  and  went  to  Por- 
tugal, where  by  her  lovely  voice  and  rare  talents 
she  so  won  and  fascinated  the  heart  of  the  ex-King 
that  he  made  her  his  wife  by  morganatic  marriage. 
It  not  being  permitted  to  raise  her  to  his  own  rank, 
he  conferred  upon  her  the  title  of  Comtesse  d'Edla, 
which  as  his  widow  she  now  enjoys,  together  with 
the  respect  and  esteem  of  her  husband's  family. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  time  was  now  approaching  when  I  must  bid 
farewell  for  a  time  to  all  my  friends,  save  the  one 
who  sits  beside  me  now  as  I  write,  but  knows  not 
one  word  of  all  I  have  said  about  her  in  these 
pages,  nor  will  she  until  I  have  written  "  The  End." 
We  were  to  be  married  the  10th  of  October,  and 
were  too  serenely  and  seriously  happy  to  entertain 
the  idea  of  having  the  holy  ceremony  performed 
before  a  multitude  of  disinterested  persons.  Per- 
haps it  was  selfish  on  our  part,  but  not  peculiar. 
It  must  be  in  church,  but  not  in  public.  Rev.  Dr. 
Vinton,  the  rector  of  St.  Paul's  Church,  —  of  which 
she  and  her  mother  were  both  members,  and  where 
I  first  met  them,  —  appreciating  our  feelings,  ar- 
ranged to  have  the  wedding  take  place  early  in  the 
evening,  only  lighting  up  the  altar,  —  the  front  of 
the  church  remaining  closed.  Our  little  proces- 
sion entered  through  the  vestry,  without  the  usual 
wedding-march  or  music  of  any  kind,  which  may 
seem  strange,  considering  our  mutual  proclivities 
in  that  line.  But  there  was  a  Beethoven  Sym- 
phony going  on  in  our  hearts.  Although  not  a 


160  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

musical  entertainment,  it  was  intensely  but  simply 
picturesque. 

The  few  candles  about  the  altar  faintly  illumi- 
nated the  fine  old  copy  of  Raphael's  "  Transfigura- 
tion," which  hung  at  the  back  of  the  chancel, 
concentrating  their  light  upon  the  bridal  party, 
and  after  touching  softly  upon  the  pulpit  and 
reading-desk  expended  their  rays  midway  in  the 
shadowy  depths  of  the  vast  interior.  I  think  my 
friend  Dr.  Derby  was  the  only  witness  outside  of 
the  bridal  party  and  our  immediate  relatives. 

Upon  leaving  the  church  we  found  the  rain 
falling  in  torrents ;  but  we  thought  of  the  old 
Scotch  proverb,  "  Blessed  is  the  bride  that  the 
rain  rains  on,"  and  were  contented.  Later  in  the 
evening  we  met  our  friends  to  receive  their  con- 
gratulations and  good-byes. 

With  our  wedding  gifts  came  a  package  of 
four,  which  were  among  the  most  touching  and 
pleasant  of  all.  They  were  from  the  three  remain- 
ing members  of  our  quartette  choir  and  the  or- 
ganist,—  Dr.  George  Derby,  tenor;  Miss  Louise 
Hensler,  soprano ;  Mrs.  Meston,  contralto ;  and 
Mr.  Frank  Howard,  organist. 

After  writing  an  appropriate  note  of  thanks  to 
each  individually,  I  got  off  quite  a  lengthy  vale- 
dictory poem,  addressed  to  them  all  collectively ; 
and  doing  them  up  in  one  package,  I  gave  it  to  the 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  161 

sexton  for  him  to  place  upon  the  keys  of  the  organ 
the  next  Sunday  morning  after  I  sailed. 

Soon  after,  I  received  the  following  pleasant  and 
very  flattering  letter  from  the  Doctor :  — 

DEAR  MR.  BALL,  —  If  a  bombshell  had  been  thrown 
into  the  choir  (supposing  it  possible  that  one  could  be 
loaded  with  sentiment  and  wit) ,  it  could  not  have  pro- 
duced a  greater  impression  than  did  your  package  of 
letters  this  morning.  The  girls  (I  beg  Mrs.  M.'s  par- 
don) opened  theirs  at  once,  and  the  effect  was  so  de- 
cided that  Mr.  Howard  prudently  declined  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  such  dangerous  affairs  till  after  the 
singing  was  over.  Without  his  steady  nerves  I  don't 
know  what  would  have  happened,  for  all  eyes  were 
dim  and  all  voices  shaky.  In  the  last  hymn  the  so- 
prano part  was  sung,  apparently,  by  an  old  woman  of 
about  eighty,  and  the  alto  seemed  to  be  fast  dropping 
into  the  vale  of  years.  I  should  judge  they  had  both 
possessed  excellent  voices  in  early  life. 

Seriously,  my  dear  Mr.  Ball,  your  kind  words  have 
deeply  affected  us  all,  and  we  would  express  to  you  how 
highly  they  are  appreciated,  and  how  much  we  wish  that 
you  may  enjoy  every  happiness  in  life. 

In  behalf  of  the  choir,  most  truly  yours, 

GEORGE  DERBY. 
SUNDAY,  Oct.  13, 1854. 

I  mention  this  valedictory  poem,  as  it  was  the 
occasion  of  a  charge  being  publicly  made  against 
me  which  I  desire  at  this  late  day  to  refute.  The 

poem  itself  would  be  the  most  effectual  refutation, 

11 


162  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

but  I  refrain  from  producing  it.  This  happened  at 
the  next  annual  dinner  (after  I  left)  of  the  Har- 
vard Musical  Society,  of  which  I  had  the  honor  to 
be  a  member.  When  the  "  flow  of  soul "  began, 
a  member  arose  and  proposed  my  health  as  "  the 
Painter,  Sculptor,  and  Musician."  Immediately  my 
friend  the  Doctor  was  on  his  feet,  promptly  adding, 
"  and  Poet."  This  was  the  only  time  I  was  ever 
openly  accused  of  being  a  poet,  and  I  wish  to  dis- 
claim and  discountenance  any  such  vain  idea, — 
although  my  wife,  who  implicitly  believes  in  me, 
has  hoarded  up  a  mass  of  manuscript  poems, 
small  plays,  and  other  rubbish  of  mine,  enough  to 
fill  a  small  volume  at  least,  which  the  world  has 
never  seen  nor  ever  will  see ;  for  which  promise  I 
trust  that  the  world  is  duly  grateful. 

But  aside  from  this  nonsense,  what  happy  meet- 
ings those  annual  dinners  were,  and  how  many 
important  musical  enterprises  have  been  born  and 
fostered  at  those  meetings,  —  the  Orchestral  Con- 
certs, the  new  Music  Hall,  the  big  organ,  etc. 
How  well  I  remember  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
our  old  friend  Dr.  Upham  would  hold  forth  when- 
ever the  organ  was  mentioned,  and  how  he  worked ; 
and  when  the  funds  were  finally  secured,  went  to 
Germany  to  superintend  the  building  of  it ;  and  the 
joke  about  his  dissecting  nightingales'  throats  for 
new  ideas  in  voicing.  Then  when  the  great  instru- 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  163 

ment  finally  arrived  and  was  set  up  in  its  mag- 
nificent case,  what  a  joyous  crowd  overflowed  the 
Music  Hall  on  the  night  of  the  dedication,  and  how 
patiently  they  sat  with  eyes  riveted  upon  the  half- 
acre  of  green  baize  that  hung  in  front  of,  and  veiled 
this  mighty  mystery.  But  now  the  bell  sounds? 
and  the  veil  begins  to  descend  so  slowly  and  silently 
that  the  groups  of  cherubs  and  angels  gradually 
coming  into  view  seem  to  be  ascending  into  heaven. 
Next,  old  John  Sebastian  Bach  peeps  over  the  top 
of  the  curtain,  apparently  standing  on  tiptoe,  with 
a  regiment  of  glittering  pipes  on  each  side  of  him, 
flanked  by  more  angelic  females  singing  "  Gloria  in 
excelsis."  And  now  loom  up  those  colossal  Michael- 
angelesque  "  termini,"  bearing  up  the  whole  struc- 
ture on  their  shoulders.  Lower  falls  the  veil,  till 
the  key-banks  are  exposed,  and  down  to  the  pedal- 
bass.  Now  the  entire  fagade  is  revealed,  seeming 
high  enough  and  wide  enough  for  that  of  a  cathe- 
dral. Then  goes  up  a  roar  of  applause  that  sets 
the  very  pipes  vibrating.  But  hush !  here  comes 
the  organist.  What  a  little  man!  Not  so  small 
when  you  compare  him  with  yourself.  He  calmly 
seats  himself  in  front  of  this  monster,  which  is  the 
signal  for  the  female  portion  of  the  audience  to  stop 
their  ears,  to  protect  their  tympani  from  collapse. 
But  the  grand  crash  came,  after  all,  when  they  were 
not  prepared  for  it,  and  were  naturally  disappointed 


164  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

that  not  a  tympanum  was  started  or  a  window 
broken. 

I  must  not  forget  to  mention  one  principal 
feature  of  the  evening's  entertainment,  —  the  read- 
ing of  the  Ode  to  the  Organ  (or  to  Music  in  general, 
I  forget  which)  by  Miss  Charlotte  Cushman,  who 
came  walking  majestically  in, — like  a  tragedy  queen, 
as  she  was.  Both  the  poem  and  the  reading  were 
received  with  rapturous  applause  and  various  con- 
jectures as  to  who  was  the  modest  author  whose 
name  was  withheld.  But  not  many  weeks  elapsed 
before  it  was  whispered  about  that  the  Ode  was 
written  by  a  well-known  literary  lady  of  Boston. 

In  vain  on  "  the  big  organ  night "  — 

That  glorious  episode  — 
We  sought  to  know,  midst  our  delight, 

To  whom  we  owed  the  Ode. 
But  secrecy  no  longer  shields 

The  sweet  and  pleasant  ode-er; 
She  slyly  pointed  to  the  Fields, 

Where  Heaven  had  bestowed  her. 

How  I  have  wandered  away  from  the  dinner, 
just  as  our  dear  old  witty  President  —  Pickering, 
of  the  double-bass  voice  —  was  about  to  get  off  his 
annual  joke  about  "  Old  Put,"  in  order  to  rouse 
up  his  "  lineal  descendant,"  the  benignant  and  gen- 
tlemanly Judge  Putnam,  ever  ready  to  meet  the 
old  joke  with  a  new  and  appropriate  response. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  165 

But  I  must  get  back  before  they  break  up,  in  order 
to  join  in  the  hand-to-hand  chorus,  "Auld  Lang- 
Syne."  I  hope  they  have  not  forgotten  that  old 
custom  in  the  twenty-five  years  since  I  had  the 
happiness  to  lend  a  hand  and  voice. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

WEDNESDAY  morning,  Oct.  11,  1854,  we  went 
on  board  the  old  Cunard  steamer  "America." 
As  partings  on  board  ship  are  not  very  cheerful 
reading,  and  such  partings  have  been  so  harrow- 
ingly  described  before,  many  times,  I  will  only  say 
that  it  required  all  our  fortitude  to  say  our  fare- 
wells with  smiling  faces,  while  the  rebellious  tears 
were  waiting  behind  our  eyelids,  to  break  forth  as 
soon  as  they  could  do  so  without  being  seen  from 
the  shore  we  were  leaving.  The  invariable  watch- 
ing the  receding  shore  as  long  as  a  handkerchief 
could  be  discerned,  was  carried  even  beyond  the 
vanishing-point.  Then,  immediately,  my  methodi- 
cal and  ever-provident  wife,  with  an  eye  to  the 
future,  disappeared  below,  to  put  her  house  in 
order  while  her  head  was  level. 

But  it  turned  out  that  mine  was  the  weak  head ; 
and  she,  proof  against  the  most  treacherous  wiles 
of  Neptune,  employed  most  of  her  leisure  time  the 
next  three  days  bringing  me  ice-water,  which, 
with  an  occasional  sea-biscuit,  was  my  principal 
diet.  The  first  thing  my  stomach  craved  was  an 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  167 

American  apple ;  after  devouring  which,  I  was  all 
right  during  the.  rest  of  the  voyage. 

We  arrived  at  Liverpool  on  the  eleventh  day  from 
Boston.  Now  the  fast  steamers  do  the  same  in 
seven  days  or  less.  It  is  all  very  well  for  them  to 
cut  off  three  or  four  days  from  the  length  of  a  voy- 
age ;  but  they  do  it  at  the  wrong  end.  A  fortune 
awaits  the  man  who  first  builds  a  steamer  that  will 
cut  off  the  first  three  days  of  the  voyage.  After 
spending  a  few  days  in  London  and  the  same  in 
Paris,  we  went  to  Marseilles,  where  we  took  a 
steamer  for  Leghorn ;  and  a  more  dreary  night  I 
never  passed  than  the  one  in  that  miserable  boat 
on  the  tumbling  Mediterranean. 

Next  morning  when  we  arrived  in  the  harbor  of 
Leghorn,  we  were  driven  almost  mad  by  the  por- 
ters who  came  on  board  to  take  our  trunks  to  the 
Custom-house.  -Now,  I  could  not  speak  a  word  of 
Italian  of  any  kind ;  and  Mrs.  Ball,  who  spoke  only 
the  choicest,  and  with  a  very  slow  and  dignified  de- 
livery, found  it  impossible  to  "  catch  on  "  to  their 
Tuscan  dialect,  turning  all  their  h's  into  c's  and 
their  c's  into  A's,  and  running  a  whole  sentence 
apparently  into  one  word.  In  fact,  we  were  com- 
pletely bewildered.  But  we  kept  our  eyes  on  our 
trunks,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  put 
into  a  small  row-boat,  and  of  being  hustled  in  our- 
selves, when  we  were  rowed  over  to  the  wharf  to 


168  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

have  our  luggage  examined.  This  happened  to  be 
one  of  the  times  when  ignorance  was  bliss.  I 
think  the  porters  must  have  told  the  officer  that 
we  were  innocent  foreigners,  and  it  was  useless  to 
talk  to  us,  for  we  could  not  understand  him ;  so 
he  did  not  attempt  to  address  us  verbally,  but  put 
his  questions  and  took  our  declarations  entirely  in 
pantomime.  He  began  by  putting  his  pencil  in  his 
mouth,  and  puffing  away,  pretended  to  smoke, 
pointing  at  our  trunks  and  raising  his  eyebrows. 
I  immediately  understood  that  he  demanded  to 
know  if  we  had  any  cigars,  and  shook  my  head 
and  smiled.  He  then  pointed  at  me  with  his  fore- 
finger, and  snapped  his  second  finger  and  thumb, 
pistol-fashion.  That  meant,  "  Have  you  any  fire- 
arms or  ammunition  ?  "  I  again  shook  my  head  and 
laughed.  His  next  performance  was  to  shuffle  and 
deal  an  imaginary  pack  of  cards ;  at  which  we  all 
laughed,  I  gave  my  silent  negative,  and  he  chalked 
our  trunks.  The  examination  was  over. 

We  took  the  afternoon  train  for  Florence,  and 
went  to  the  Hotel  de  New  York,  the  name  having 
a  homelike  sound.  But  a  more  comforting  and 
homelike  sound  greeted  our  ears  about  bedtime. 
The  next  room  to  ours  was  occupied  by  an  English 
or  American  family ;  and  we  could  distinctly  hear 
their  voices  murmuring  in  unison  the  family  even- 
ing prayers,  in  which  we  joined  in  spirit  with 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  169 

grateful  hearts  that  we  had  arrived  safely  at  our 
journey's  end. 

The  next  morning  we  called  on  Joel  T.  Hart  the 
sculptor,  to  whom  we  had  a  letter,  who  took  us 
to  a  house  in  Via  Maggio,  where  we  found  a  small 
furnished  apartment  of  three  rooms,  —  parlor,  bed- 
room, and  anteroom,  —  which  we  engaged,  delighted 
to  learn  that  it  had  been  previously  occupied  by 
several  celebrated  American  artists,  successively, 
in  their  days  of  small  beginnings;  among  them 
William  Paige,  Clevenger  the  sculptor,  and  Edwin 
White.  The  landlady  was  to  furnish  linen  and  sil- 
ver, and  the  hot  water  for  our  coffee  in  the  morn- 
ing, we  either  to  go  out  for  our  other  meals  or  to 
have  them  sent  in  to  us  from  a  neighboring  restau- 
rant. The  little  parlor  was  very  simply  but  com- 
fortably furnished,  as  also  the  bedroom.  In  the 
anteroom  was  a  credenza  containing  our  table  fur- 
niture, including  silver  spoons  and  forks.  Our  first 
proceeding  was  to  select  a  place  in  the  parlor  for 
a  piano,  —  a  luxury  we  could  not  do  without ;  not  a 
very  expensive  one,  however,  as  we  were  told  we 
could  hire  a  very  good  instrument  for  five  dollars 
a  month. 

.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark  that  first  evening,  I 
started  out  on  a. foraging  expedition.  We  wanted 
coffee,  sugar,  and  a  coffee-pot,  not  wishing  to  use 
the  black-looking  thing  belonging  to  the  apartment, 


170  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

notwithstanding  its  artistic  associations.  I  chose 
the  evening  for  the  expedition,  because  without 
attracting  attention  I  could  look  through  the  win- 
dows into  the  lighted  shops,  and  when  I  saw  what 
I  wanted,  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  enter,  point  at  the 
thing,  and  say  "  Quanto  ?  "  which  is  the  first  word 
every  foreigner  learns  on  coming  to  Italy,  —  mean- 
ing "  How  much  ?  "  Then  when  you  are  told,  not 
being  any  wiser,  you  hold  out  a  handful  of  change 
and  let  them  pick  out  the  price  of  the  article  pur- 
chased. It's  very  simple,  and  you  don't  have  to 
haggle  with  them  as  you  do  after  you  have  learned 
the  language.  In  that  way  I  found  and  purchased 
all  I  desired  for  the  time.  But  when  I  started  for 
home  I  had  forgotten  how  many  corners  I  turned 
in  coming,  and  after  walking  a  short  distance,  I 
concluded  that  I  was  lost.  But  remembering  the 
name  of  our  street  (Via  Maggio),  I  stopped  the  first 
man  I  met,  and  fired  it  off  at  him  in  an  interroga- 
tive tone.  He  immediately  divined  —  like  the  Cus- 
tom-house officer  —  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
waste  any  words  upon  me,  but  placing  his  closed 
umbrella  in  a  horizontal  position,  pointed  down  the 
street  and  drew  his  hand  along  half-way,  then 
wheeled  about  to  the  left  and  again  slid  his  hand 
along  to  the  end  of  the  umbrella  and  said,  "  Via 
Maggio."  I  understood  him  at  once,  and  kept  on 
to  the  next  street  to  the  left,  which  I  traversed  to 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  171 

the  end,  and  found  myself  in  Via  Maggio, — literally, 
"  May  Street."  How  very  ridiculous  that  that  name 
should  bring  to  mind,  as  I  write  it,  a  story  I  laughed 
at  sixty  years  ago,  of  a  gentleman  like  me  in  quest 
of  May  Street,  situated  in  what  was  then  called 
"  the  dark  quarter "  of  Boston.  Meeting  a  little 
"  nig,"  he  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  May  Street 
was,  and  was  answered  triumphantly,  "  May  Street  ? 
Do  I  know  where  May  Street  is  ?  Ha !  I  wish  I 
had  as  many  dollars  as  I  know  where  May  Street 
is !  I  lib  dah ! "  I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding 
the  house,  and  was  so  elated  at  my  success  that  I 
passed  my  own  door  in  the  dark,  mounted  to  the 
story  above,  and  pounded  on  the  door  for  Mrs.  Ball 
to  open  it.  When  it  was  opened  the  smile  froze 
upon  my  face  ;  I  found  myself  in  the  presence  of  a 
pleasant  young  lady,  but  not  my  wife.  She  politely 
refrained  from  laughing  at  my  ridiculous  appear- 
ance, while  I  stammered  out  an  apology  in  the 
only  language  at  my  command,  telling  her  I  had 
mistaken  the  door.  I  was  fully  prepared  for  an- 
other pantomime  scene,  and  was  agreeably  sur- 
prised to  hear  her  tell  me  in  good  English  that  she 
thought  my  apartment  was  on  the  floor  below.  I 
felt  so  grateful  to  hear  those  few  words  in  my 
native  tongue  that  I  could  have  hugged  her  on  the 
spot  if  my  arms  had  been  free ;  as  it  was,  I  could 
only  thank  her  in  my  most  winning  tones,  as  she 


172  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

held  the  lamp  over  the  banisters  to  light  me  to 
my  room  below.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  my 
wife  was  not  as  polite  as  the  lady  upstairs  ;  for 
she  laughed  outright  when  she  opened  the  door, 
seeing  me  with  my  arms  full  of  "  groceries  "  sur- 
mounted by  the  coffee-pot ;  and  when  I  related 
my  adventures  she  really  went  off  in  quite  a 
"  gale." 

Soon  after  my  return  we  had  a  visit  from  T.  B. 
Read,  the  painter-poet,  who,  having  heard  of  our 
arrival,  had  come  to  take  us  round  to  the  Powerses, 
as  it  happened  to  be  Mrs.  Powers's  weekly  reception 
evening.  Mrs.  Ball  excused  herself,  as  she  wished 
to  get  her  first  letter  off  from  Italy,  but  insisted 
on  my  going.  So  Read  and  I  threaded  our  way 
through  numerous  narrow,  dark  streets,  that  are 
now  lighted  with  gas,  but  were  then  faintly  illumi- 
nated by  the  smallest  of  small  lanterns  hung  on  a 
string  across  the  middle  of  the  street.  We  found 
assembled  quite  a  roomful  of  Americans  and  Eng- 
lish. It  really  seemed  as  if  I  had  stepped  back 
into  my  own  home  again.  I  was  introduced  to 
Hiram  Powers  and  his  interesting  family,  who  wel- 
comed me  very  cordially.  Those  receptions  we 
afterward  found  very  pleasant,  —  conversation  in- 
terspersed with  music  or  an  occasional  recitation, 
and  refreshed  by  tea  and  cakes.  We  met  many 
delightful  people  there,  and  soon  became  quite 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  173 

intimate  with  the  Powers  family ;  the  children  — 
eight  in  all  —  took  to  us  very  kindly. 

My  old  friend  Francis  Alexander,  with  his  wife 
and  daughter  Fanny  ("Francesea"),were  living  in 
Florence  then,  and  received  us  very  warmly,  and 
made  my  first  hirthday  in  Italy  pass  most  pleas- 
antly by  inviting  us  to  dinner  and  afterward  to  a 
delightful  drive.  I  think  it  was  on  that  same  oc- 
casion that  the  daughter  "  Francesca "  began  a 
pen-and-ink  drawing  of  Mrs.  Ball  as  Saint  Cecilia, 
which  she  finished  at  another  sitting.  Even  at 
that  early  day  she  drew  exquisitely;  working 
every  day  in  the  churches  and  cloisters  under  her 
father's  guidance,  she  acquired  a  style  as  pure  and 
simple  as  that  of  the  old  masters  themselves.  In 
the  evening  we  had  a  little  music,  and  she  sang,  I 
remember, — at  her  father's  suggestion,  —  "I  know 
that  my  Redeemer  liveth,"  in  a  very  earnest  and 
fervent  manner.  I  sang  a  song  from  "  Elijah," 
and  afterward  presented  her  with  my  copy  that  I 
sang  from  in  the  oratorio.  She  is  still  living  with 
her  mother  here  in  Florence,  devoting  her  time  and 
talents  to  charity,  principally  among  the  poor 
contadini,  who  little  less  than  worship  her  as  a 
Saint.  Her  father  passed  away  a  few  years  ago. 
From  the  time  he  came  here  he  spent  most  of  his 
time  repairing  and  touching  up  old  paintings  which 
he  delighted  to  hunt  up  in  every  out-of-the-way 


174  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN. 

corner.  They  were  living,  when  we  first  came, 
opposite  the  Strozzi  Palace;  and  every  morning 
there  would  be  an  array  of  "  old  masters,"  in  va- 
rious stages  of  dilapidation,  strung  along  in  front 
of  the  palace,  their  owners  watching  intently  the 
house  opposite,  for  Mr.  Alexander  to  appear  at  the 
window,  when  if  he  saw  anything  promising  he 
would  descend  and  examine  it.  I  asked  him  if  he 
himself  no  longer  painted ;  he  answered  modestly, 
in  his  bluff  manner,  "  No ;  what 's  the  use,  when  I 
can  buy  a  better  picture  for  a  dollar  and  a  half 
than  I  can  paint  myself?" 

It  was  some  weeks  before  I  could  find  a  suitable 
studio  with  an  adjoining  room  for  a  marble  work- 
man to  cut  three  or  four  busts  I  had  brought  with 
me  to  put  in  marble.  In  the  mean  time  I  worked  in 
my  apartment  on  a  sketch  model  of  a  group  repre- 
senting "  Falsehood  stealing  the  Mantle  of  Truth." 
Poetical  enough ;  but  I  decided,  after  finishing  the 
small  model,  that  it  was  too  ambitious  a  work  to 
begin  with. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

I  FOUND  a  studio  near  Piazza  Indipendenza,  about 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  our  house,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  which  distance  I  regretted  for 
two  reasons,  —  one  was  that  my  wife  would  be  left 
alone  all  day,  so  far  away;  and  the  other  that  I 
could  not  profit,  as  I  desired,  by  Powers's  criticism. 
However,  I  took  the  studio  for  a  year.  As  I  had 
never  worked  from  the  nude,  I  immediately  put 
up  a  figure  of  "  Pandora,"  for  the  study  that  life 
models  would  afford  me. 

I  must  say  I  was  somewhat  disappointed  at  first 
at  not  finding  the  models  all  Venus  di  Medicis, 
as  that  had  been  my  ideal  of  the  female  form 
divine ;  but  I  soon  learned  to  be  grateful  that 
they  were  not,  for  I  found  modelling  in  most  of 
them  more  exquisite  than  anything  to  be  found  in 
the  Greek  statues ;  and  it  seemed  strange  to  me 
that  the  Greeks,  who  could  make  such  beautiful 
statues,  could  not  have  made  them  more  beautiful, 
having  the  most  perfect  life-models. 

While  on  the  subject  of  models,  let  me  say  a 
word  in  defence  of  this  very  necessary  but  much 


176  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

abused  class.  It  always  pains  me  to  hear  an 
artist,  depending  so  much  on  their  services, 
\  decry  them  all  as  a  vile,  bad  lot,  as  it  probably 
does  some  actors  to  hear  the  ballet-girls  all  con- 
demned much  in  the  same  way.  As  the  latter 
have  frequently  found  champions  to  tell  the  story 
of  some  bright  example  to  the  contrary,  so  let  me 
bring  forward  one  or  two  instances  in  my  experi- 
ence, to  redeem  the  professional  models  from  this 
sweeping  denunciation. 

Perhaps,  as  a  general  rule,  female  models  are 
just  what  each  artist  in  his  heart  desires  to  find 
them.  To  me  they  have  been  invariably  patient, 
obedient,  and  respectful  servants,  never  indulging 
in  the  slightest  familiarity  or  levity, —  coming, 
patiently  performing  their  arduous  task,  receiv- 
ing their  money,  and  departing,  precisely  as  if 
they  had  come  to  mend  my  coat  or  scrub  my 
floor. 

I  had  employed  six  or  eight  models  who  had 
been  sent  to  me  for  my  Pandora,  when  one  day 
a  woman  applied,  conducting  a  young  girl  of  about 
seventeen  years,  who  she  said  was  her  daughter, 
and  wished  to  know  if  I  wanted  a  model.  As  she 
was  a  very  decent,  modest-looking  girl,  seeming  to 
have  a  good  figure,  I  told  them  to  remain.  I  heard 
afterward  that  the  mother  had  been  a  celebrated 
model  in  he?  youthful  days. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  177 

But  from  the  daughter's  hesitation  and  seeming 
reluctance  to  drop  her  garments,  I  judged  that  she 
had  not  been  accustomed  to  pose  for  the  nude ;  and 
I  have  since  thought  that  to  earn  in  the  shortest 
time  money  enough  to  enable  her  to  be  married 
was  the  inducement  for  her  to  do  so  now.  When 
one  thinks  that  these  poor  girls  would  be  obliged 
to  work  steadily  from  sunrise  to  sunset  to  earn  in 
any  other  way  as  much  as  they  receive  for  posing 
one  hour,  and  that  they  are  frequently  engaged  to 
one  artist  six  hours  in  a  day,  it  can  hardly  be 
wondered  at  that  this  one  should  have  been  tempted 
to  adopt  this  shorter  road  to  earn  her  wedding 
"  dot."  I  found  her  so  satisfactory  in  every  way, 
that  I  discarded  all  the  others  and  kept  her  on 
until  the  figure  was  completed. 

One  day  her  mother  appeared  alone,  and  asked 
me  if  I  had  any  work  for  a  marble-finisher,  as  her 
daughter  was  engaged  to  be  married,  and  was  only 
waiting  till  this  young  marble-cutter  could  find 
regular  employment.  I  had  no  work  for  him  at 
that  time,  but  I  presume  he  found  it  elsewhere, 
for  I  heard  not  long  after  that  they  were  married. 
Nine  years  passed,  and  I  found  myself  back  in 
Florence.  I  engaged  a  workman  who  informed  me, 
after  a  time,  that  his  wife  was  my  model  for  Pan- 
dora. I  was  not  sure  which  model  he  meant,  — 
never  having  seen  him  before,  —  till  one  day  I  saw 

12 


178  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

her  with  him,  when  I  recognized  the  little  girl  who 
wanted  to  be  married. 

One  often  hears  the  doubt  expressed  as  to  the 
propriety  or  the  necessity  of  an  artist  employing 
his  talents  on  figures  that  require  nude  models, 
when  there  are  so  many  good  draped  subjects  for 
him  to  choose  from. 

These  persons  do  not  think,  or  in  their  ignorance 
are  not  aware  of  the  fact,  that  every  figure  either 
\  in  painting  or  sculpture,  —  the  latter  especially, — 
to  be  worth  the  canvas  or  clay,  must  be  first  care- 
fully studied  from  the  nude  model,  let  them  be 
intended  to  be  draped  ever  so  becomingly  when 
finished. 

As  an  instance  of  this,  I  will  relate  an  amusing 
circumstance  that  occurred  in  my  experience  a 
few  years  ago.  I  was  modelling  a  statue  of  Wash- 
ington, half  life-size,  and  had  studied  the  figure 
carefully  from  a  nude  life-model.  The  head  was 
finished,  and  the  figure  just  ready  to  be  clothed. 
It  was  a  standing  figure,  the  right  hand  supported 
by  a  sword,  the  point  of  which  rested  on  the 
ground,  and  the  left  extended  as  in  the  act  of 
benediction.  Now,  I  am  always  careful  never  to 
have  my  work  seen  in  any  ludicrous  stage  of  its 
progress.  But  one  day  my  workman  announced  a 
gentleman  to  see  me  ;  being  an  intimate  friend,  he 
followed  close  upon  the  heels  of  the  man,  and  en- 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  179 

tered  before  I  had  time  to  cover  my  work,  which 
at  once  attracted  his  attention.  He  stood  before 
it  with  an  expression  of  awe  mingled  with  alarm. 
There  was  the  Father  of  his  Country,  apparently 
just  walking  out  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  with  noth- 
ing to  suggest  clothing  but  the  naked  sword.  The 
first  words  of  my  friend  were,  "  What  in  the  name 
of  Heaven  are  you  doing  ?  I  see  that  it  is  Wash- 
ington ;  but,  my  dear  fellow,  it  will  never  do ! 
Although  I  believe  there  is  a  nude  Wellington 
somewhere  in  London,  Americans  won't  stand 
that."  He  was  greatly  relieved  when  I  told  him 
that  the  Americans  would  not  see  him  till  he  was 
properly  dressed  ;  that  I  had  just  got  him  ready  to 
put  his  clothes  on.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad 
to  hear  it,  for  J  really  thought  you  had  gone  crazy. 
But  why  not  begin  with  the  clothes,  since  they  are 
on  the  outside  ? " 

I  find  it  is  the  general  belief  among  outsiders 
that  the  sculptor  takes  a  big  lump  of  clay  and  digs 
the  statue  out  of  it. 

This  for  the  benefit  of  beginners  :  — 

Always  remember  that  every  bit  of  clay  added  is 
a  step  forward,  every  bit  removed  is  a  step  backward. 
Therefore,  if  there  be  too  much  in  any  part,  remove 
it  all  at  once,  and  more,  with  one  scoop,  and  thus 
save  your  steps. 

Pay  particular  attention  to  your  large  forms ; 


180  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

shut  your  eyes  to  the  little  ones  till  the  work  seems 
about  done,  and  you  will  be  surprised  to  find  the 
little  ones  all  there,  or  as  many  of  them  as  you 
want.  In  Art,  Franklin's  financial  maxim  is  re- 
versed :  Take  care  of  the  dollars,  and  the  cents 
will  take  care  of  themselves. 

Look  out  for  the  high  lights ;  but  look  not  on 
the  mountain  tops,  but  in  the  valleys.  Keep  well 
open  the  concavities  where  lurk  the  strongest 
lights,  glowing  as  in  a  concave  mirror.  These  are 
what  give  tone  to  a  picture  and  color  to  a  statue. 

The  ardent  sun-god,  waking  from  his  dreams, 
Kisses  the  mountain  peaks ;  a  moment  dallies, 
Then  leaves  them  cold,  and  spreads  his  brightest  beams, 
T'  embrace  and  glorify  the  fertile  valleys. 

In  other  words,  give  your  whole  attention  to  your 
contours  and  the  ample  spread  of  your  concavities. 
If  these  are  largely  treated,  no  amount  of  sub- 
sequent labor  expended  on  your  finish  will  ever 
belittle  the  work. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  a  rough,  careless 
surface  finish  gives  breadth ;  it  is  only  a  superficial 
appearance  of  breadth,  tending  to  deceive  at  first 
sight,  but  is  a  veil  that  is  soon  seen  through.  If 
we  have  any  charity  for  such  finish,  it  is  that  it 
covers  a  multitude  of  sins. 

No  work  of  sculpture  ever  failed  because  of  its 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  181 

carefully  studied  surface  finish ;  otherwise,  the  best 
Greek  works  would  be  failures. 

Let  every  touch  have  a  meaning ;  above  all,  do 
not  "  slobber."  Every  young  artist  should  beware 
of  affecting  a  free,  careless  touch ;  freedom  in  this 
oft  means  anarchy.  Admitting  that  it  is  honest 
freedom,  and  that  every  surface  touch  on  the  clay 
has  a  masterly  meaning,  what  becomes  of  it  when 
it  passes  into  the  marble  ?  If,  as  Thorwaldsen 
beautifully  expressed  it,  "  plaster  is  the  death," 
nothing  but  the  bronze  can  effect  a  complete  resur- 
rection ;  the  pure  translucent  marble  cannot  com- 
pensate, but  only  console  for  its  loss. 

The  sculptor's  Clay,  enchanting  flatterer, 

With  smiles  and  soft  allurements  leads  us  on 

To  where  she  tells  us  our  ideal  sleeps, 

And  we  need  but  extend  our  hand,  and  she 

Will  straight  awake  and  fall  into  our  arms ; 

But  when  we  think  she  's  all  our  own,  comes  Plaster, 

Harsh  but  truthful  monitor,  and  holds 

The  cup  of  bitter  disappointment  to  our  lips ; 

Which  when  with  tears  we  've  drunk  e'en  to  the  dregs, 

The  sweet  consoler,  pure  and  spotless  Marble, 

Throws  her  arms  around  us,  hides  our  faults, 

And  cheers  us  on  with  more  humility. 

But  remember  that  after  the  resurrection  comes 
judgment ;  and  impress  upon  your  mind  the  impor- 
tant fact  that  if  the  work  is  then  found  wanting 


182  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN. 

in  these  two  particulars,  carefully  studied  outlines 
and  broadly  spread  concavities,  all  the  texture  or 
the  polish  in  the  world  will  never  redeem  it. 

We  hear  a  great  deal  said  about  leaving  certain 
parts  to  the  imagination,  especially  in  painting. 
There  are  some  people  whose  imagination  I  would 
not  trust.  I  would  prefer  my  own,  and  that  they 
should  exercise  theirs  on  a  blank  canvas.  I  hold 
that  in  a  perfect  work  of  Art  the  artist's  own  im- 
agination should  be  depicted,  but  in  so  unobtrusive 
a  manner  as  to  require  to  be  looked  for,  but  when 
found,  not  to  be  mistaken. 

Pay  particular  attention  to  the  parts  that  the 
"  gods  only  see,"  —  such  as  (in  a  bust)  the  inside 
of  the  nostrils,  inside  and  behind  the  ears,  under 
the  chin,  the  contour  of  the  top  of  the  head,  etc., 
and  you  will  find  it  turn  to  your  profitable  account. 
The  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth  will  look  out  for  them- 
selves ;  there 's  no  dodging  them. 

Do  not  hurry  or  count  your  hours,  but  labor  on 
patiently  to  the  end.  Who  cares  how  a  work  was 
done,  or  how  long  it  took  to  do  it,  if  it  be  only  well 
done  ?  It  provokes  me  to  hear  an  artist  boast  how 
quickly  he  "  threw  off  that,"  or  that  this  was  "  only 
child's  play."  I  think  of  the  young  clergyman 
who  boasted  that  he  often  wrote  a  sermon  in  half 
an  hour,  and  made  nothing  of  it.  Nothing  in  Art 
is  child's  play,  or  easy. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  183 

But  I  am  not  writing  a  lecture  or  an  instruc- 
tion book ;  although,  perhaps,  a  few  hints  here  and 
there,  as  they  occur  to  me,  may  be  found  of  suffi 
cient  importance  to  redeem  my  work  from  being 
utterly  worthless. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AT  the  end  of  my  first  year  I  decided  to  reduce 
iny  rent  by  taking  a  smaller  studio  and  one  nearer 
home.  I  had  two  reasons  for  doing  this,  —  first, 
that  I  had  no  money  to  spend  to  put  my  Pandora 
into  marble,  and  therefore  could  get  along  without 
a  workroom ;  and  second,  that  I  might  be  on  the 
home  side  of  the  river,  as  on  two  occasions  I  had 
come  near  being  obliged  to  stop  on  the  other  side 
over  night,  on  account  of  floods  from  the  overflow 
of  the  Arno,  which  occurred  almost  every  year  in 
the  rainy  season.  Thomas  Adolphus  Trollope,  in 
his  Autobiography,  gives  a  thrilling  description  of 
the  terrific  rush  of  the  waters  of  the  Arno  at  these 
times,  and  of  the  little  baby  in  the  cradle  that  was 
rescued  unharmed  as  it  was  being  hurled  along  on 
this  boiling,  surging  torrent,  seemingly  to  certain 
destruction,  midst  uprooted  trees,  broken  and  over- 
turned boats,  dog-kennels,  hen-coops,  and  other  rub- 
bish. This  incident,  I  think,  happened  but  a  year 
or  two  before  we  came  to  Florence. 

My  wife  would  frequently  take  her  work  and 
book,  and  accompany  me  to  the  studio,  spend  the 
day,  and  we  would  walk  home  to  dinner  together. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  185 

One  day  when  I  had  left  her  at  home  in  the 
morning,  she  came  to  the  studio  in  the  afternoon 
in  a  state  of  great  excitement  and  distress.  When 
I  opened  the  door  to  her,  I  saw  at  once  that  she  had 
been  crying.  "  What  is  it,  my  dear  ?  "  She  threw 
herself  into  my  arms.  "  Oh,  Tom,"  she  cried, 
"  they  have  stolen  all  our  silver,"  and  immediately 
broke  down.  I  at  once  thought  of  a  hundred 
francesconi — little  more  than  a  hundred  dollars  — 
which  I  had  drawn  from  the  bank  a  day  or  two 
before  in  silver.  But  when  she  said  it  was  the 
thirty  or  forty  dollars'  worth  of  forks  and  spoons 
that  we  were  responsible  for  to  our  landlady,  I 
made  light  of  it,  as  I  should  have  done  for  her  sake 
had  it  been  the  francesconi.  Now,  this  may  seem 
to  you  very  weak  on  her  part  to  cry  for  the  loss  of 
a  few  dollars'  worth  of  spoons;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  we  had  been  practising  the  strict- 
est economy  the  past  year,  in  order  to  make  our 
little  fund  hold  out  another  year ;  that  she  was 
alone  when  she  made  the  discovery,  and  that  the 
landlady  had  been  accusing  her  of  carelessness  in 
leaving  the  silver  just  where  she  had  told  us  to 
when  we  took  the  apartment.  Before  I  had  quite 
succeeded  in  drying  her  tears,  the  lady  living  under 
us  —  Mrs.  Page  —  and  her  friend  Miss  Oxenham 
drove  up  to  the  studio  door.  Hearing  of  the  rob- 
bery, and  that  Mrs.  Ball  had  left  the  house  in  tears, 


186  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

they  had,  in  the  kindness  of  their  hearts,  followed 
her  to  the  studio  to  sympathize  with  her  and 
soothe  her  grieved  and  wounded  feelings ;  which 
with  our  united  efforts  we  succeeded  in  doing,  by 
convincing  her  that  it  was  not  her  fault,  when  we 
all  drove  home  and  dined  together.  The  next  day 
we  satisfied  the  landlady  for  the  loss  of  her  silver, 
and  bought  for  our  future  use  some  plated  forks 
and  spoons,  which,  being  our  own  property,  we 
could  keep  out  of  doors  if  we  chose,  without  fear 
of  being  scolded  if  they  should  be  stolen. 

It  is  very  seldom  that  we  hear  of  a  burglary  in 
Florence,  although  there  is  no  end  of  petty  thieving 
by  servants.  In  the  days  I  am  writing  about,  when 
most  of  the  streets  were  as  dark  as  pockets  in  the 
night,  I  do  not  remember  ever  having  heard  of  any 
one  being  robbed.  Ah !  we  shall  never  see  Florence 
again  as  we  saw  it  then,  —  and  I  do  not  wish  to  ; 
but  there  are  many  who  never  cease  to  mourn  the 
loss  of  its  gloom  and  nastiness.  There  were  cer- 
tainly some  very  interesting  ceremonies  and  usages 
that  you  can  never  see  again ;  and  as  there  are 
many  who  have  never  seen  them  or  heard  them  de- 
scribed, a  few  words  from  an  eyewitness  may  not 
be  without  interest.  I  have  by  me  a  bundle  of  old 
letters  written  at  that  time  by  my  wife  to  her 
mother,  who  preserved  them  all,  dear  woman !  and 
brought  them  with  her  when  she  afterward  came 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  187 

out  to  us.    A  few  extracts  from  them  I  am  sure 
will  not  be  found  uninteresting. 

FLORENCE,  June  20,  1855. 

I  must  tell  you  about  the  Corpus  Christi  celebration 
which  came  off  on  the  7th  ;  as  we  have  no  such  "  con- 
ductions "  in  our  happy  land,  it  will  interest  you.  Well, 
about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  Tom  and  I  squeezed 
our  way  through  the  crowd  in  Piazza  Santa  Trinita,  and 
managed  to  get  safely  into  the  Bank  without  broken 
bones  or  crushed  hats,  where  we  stationed  ourselves  at 
a  window  to  see  the  procession.  Out  of  every  window 
was  hung  a  piece  of  tapestry,  of  silk,  velvet,  or  damask, 
some  of  them  edged  or  embroidered  with  gold,  giving 
the  square  a  very  gay  effect  altogether,  as  they  were 
mostly  of  bright  colors,  but  to  us  rather  suggestive  of 
carpet-shops.  And  the  people  in  such  crowds,  one 
would  think  they  had  never  seen  anything  of  the  kind 
before,  instead  of  having  witnessed  the  same  thing 
every  year  since  they  were  born.  What  particularly 
strikes  me  in  an  Italian  crowd  is  the  perfect  order  and 
good-nature  prevailing,  —  no  pushing  or  quarrelling, 
nothing  but  the  talking  buzz  of  a  multitude.  To  be 
sure,  this  is  a  part  of  their  religion.  But  it  was  the 
same  at  the  races  a  week  previous. 

The  route  of  the  procession  had  been  covered  with 
canvas  to  prevent  the  sun  from  shining  too  fiercely  on 
the  uncovered  head  of  the  Grand  Duke.  This  was 
done,  I  hear,  at  the  expense  of  the  Jews,  who  are 
obliged  to  do  it  as  a  sort  of  tax.  I  suppose  you  are 
wondering  all  this  time  why  the  procession  does  not 
move.  Patience,  my  dear  !  I  hear  the  band ;  they  are 


188  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

just  turning  the  corner.  First  we  have  companies  from 
the  country  churches,  in  each  from  fifty  to  a  hundred 
laymen,  dressed  in  long,  loose,  white  linen  robes,  belted 
in  with  ropes,  the  head  and  face  covered  with  a  pointed 
hood  of  the  same,  with  two  little  holes  cut  for  the  eyes. 
In  each  company  were  priests  bearing  silver  candle- 
sticks and  an  immense  crucifix.  The  robes  of  each 
company,  although  of  the  same  form,  were  of  a  different 
color,  some  black,  some  brown,  and  others  red,  looking 
very  much  like  the  demons  in  "Don  Giovanni."  Every 
individual  bore  a  lighted  wax-candle.  For  one  hour 
these  creatures  passed,  keeping  up  a  most  terrific  chant- 
ing. This  part  of  the  procession  strongly  reminded  me 
of  our  political  torchlight  processions  the  week  before 
the  Presidential  election,  only  chanting  instead  of 
cheering,  but  full  as  noisy.  Next  came  a  great  num- 
ber of  soldiers  ;  then  the  Noble  Guard,  followed  by  the 
Duke's  servants  in  gorgeous  livery;  priests  with  in- 
cense ;  next  the  Archbishop  under  a  canopy  of  silk, 
surrounded  by  priests  carrying  the  "  Host."  Then 
came  the  Grand  Duke  and  his  two  sons  dressed  as 
Knights  of  the  Order  of  Saint  Stephen.  The  dress 
seemed  a  sort  of  robe  of  white  silk  and  red  ribbons, 
with  long  trains  borne  by  pages.  They  were  sur- 
rounded by  the  Noble  Guard.  Then  more  soldiers, 
followed  by  the  State  carriages,  each  drawn  by  four 
horses  and  with  numerous  outriders. 

We  afterward  met  the  Court  returning  to  the  palace 
in  their  carriages ;  the  one  the  Duke  was  in  had  four 
footmen  standing  and  holding  on  behind.  How  absurd 
they  did  look!  For  eight  days  after  Corpus  Christi 
Domini  these  processions  were  kept  up  in  the  different 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  189 

parishes  of  the  city ;  but  the  first  was  quite  enough  for 
us  until  Wednesday  of  this  week,  when  the  one  occurred 
in  this  parish,  which  is  the  Duke's,  so  of  course  better 
than  the  ordinary  ones.  We  went  over  to  the  Pitti 
Palace  —  the  ducal  residence  —  about  seven  o'clock 
p.  M.,  to  see  the  decorations.  The  interior  courtyard  of 
the  palace  is  a  large  square  surrounded  on  three  sides 
by  the  palace  itself ;  on  the  fourth,  opposite  the  grand 
entrance,  is  a  fountain  and  high  garden  wall.  On  the 
three  balconies  round  the  court  were  hung  festoons  of 
red  silk-velvet  fringed  with  gold,  and  under  these  the 
most  magnificent  tapestries,  like  immense  paintings, 
representing  Scripture  subjects,  some  of  them  contain- 
ing thirty  or  more  life-size  figures.  Directly  across  the 
centre  of  the  court  was  a  carpet  of  real  flowers,  beauti- 
ful beyond  description,  covering  a  space  of  about  one 
hundred  feet  by  thirty,  and  made  of  nothing  but  the 
petals  of  fresh  flowers  and  green  leaves,  laid  down  in 
a  pattern  like  the  most  splendid  tapestry,  only  more 
brilliant.  It  all  seemed  like  fairyland  to  me  ;  and  Tom 
had  enough  to  do  to  keep  me  from  dancing  and  scream- 
ing with  pure  delight. 

We  returned  home  in  time  to  see  the  procession  pass 
the  house.  It  was  like  the  other,  only  less  of  it  and 
more  select,  and  the  streets  through  which  it  passed 
were  strewn  with  flowers.  Oh,  dear !  I  came  near  for- 
getting the  most  striking  feature  of  the  procession.  I 
have  said  that  each  one  carried  a  lighted  candle ;  these 
candles  were  four  or  five  feet  long,  and  large  in  propor- 
tion. Well,  by  the  side  of  each,  to  catch  the  dripping 
wax  in  bits  of  paper  or  even  in  their  own  caps,  were 
the  raggedest  of  all  ragamuffins.  You  can  imagine  the 


190  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

contrast  their  garments  presented  to  the  splendid  liv- 
eries of  the  torch-bearers,  who  never  objected  in  the 
slightest  to  their  proximity,  even  allowing  them  from 
time  to  time  to  scrape  off  the  melting  wax  around  the 
wick.  This  wax  these  poor  wretches  sell  for  a  few 
quattrini. 

That  is  Italy  all  over !  —  but  a  step  between  splendor 
and  squalor ;  a  palace  and  a  hovel  side  by  side ;  a 
prince  and  a  beggar. 

I  can  vouch  for  the  beauty  and  novelty  of  that 
flower  carpet,  made  to  be  walked  over  but  once. 

Among  these  old  letters  I  find  one  of  my  own, 
from  which  I  extract  a  few  lines,  as  they  will  give 
you  a  peep  into  our  domestic  arrangements,  and 
show  other  young  couples  how  it  is  possible  to  be 
tolerably  happy  on  a  small  amount  of  financial 
capital. 

FLOBENCE,  March  11, 1855. 

Nellie  tells  me  that  this  is  your  birthday,  and  I 
know  no  better  way  to  celebrate  it  so  that  you  can 
benefit  by  it  than  to  write  you  a  few  lines.  She,  as 
usual,  has  the  start  of  me  in  telling  all  the  news,  and 
has,  no  doubt,  told  }TOU  how  comfortable  and  happy  we 
are  ;  she  said  she  would. 

I  have  just  got  my  studio  in  running  order,  and  have 
begun  my  statue  of  Pandora,  which  I  hope  to  show  you 
one  of  these  days.  This  is  a  March  day  that  would  do 
infinite  credit  to  Boston.  The  wind  is  terrific ;  so  we 
decided  not  to  go  out  again,  as  we  went  to  church  this 
morning  and  were  almost  blown  away.  The  English 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  191' 

Church  —  the  only  Protestant  one  here  —  is  a  mile  and 
a  half  from  us,  and  we  can't  afford  to  drive  when  we 
can  possibly  walk. 

You  know,  the  habit  is  so  strong  with  me  that  I 
really  enjoy  singing  in  the  choir;  especially  as  we 
can  enter  without  being  obliged  to  pass  that  dreadful 
woman  who  keeps  the  door  and  collects  the  "  pauls  " 
from  all  the  people  as  they  go  in.  If  they  don't  pay 
then,  they  have  another  opportunity  as  they  go  out, 
when  the  plate  is  again  shaken  at  them;  so,  to  get 
their  seats  for  nothing,  they  must  run  the  gauntlet 
twice.  [At  the  present  writing  it  is  not  so.]  Our 
consciences,  however,  are  not  troubled  by  the  evasion 
of  this  tax,  as  we  think  our  united  services  in  the  choir 
a  fair  equivalent  for  the  four  pauls  a  Sunday  which  we 
need,  if  anything,  more  than  they  do.  The  choir  is  not 
particularly  well  balanced,  as  I  am  the  only  he  in  the 
crowd,  and  this  morning  it  was  my  painful  duty  to 
drown  six  innocent  females,  —  at  least,  I  did  my  best 
to ;  and  ten  to  one  I  shall  be  obliged  to  repeat  the  ef- 
fort every  Sunday  till  further  notice,  as  Ned  Sumner, 
the  only  other  male  bird,  is  moulting,  —  at  any  rate,  he 
is  not  well  enough  to  sing. 

Among  these  ladies  are  the  two  sisters  Herbert 
(English) ,  who  are  living  here,  one  of  whom  took  me  to 
the  studio  of  the  celebrated  sculptor  Dupre,  and  intro- 
duced me  to  him.  Then  there  is  Mrs.  Macquay  (Italian), 
wife  of  the  English  banker,  and  a  most  charming  little 
lady ;  all  of  whom  are  very  kind,  and  have  shown  us 
every  attention. 

It  is  worth  all  our  efforts  in  the  choir  to  have  made 
the  acquaintance  of  these  ladies.  .  .  . 


192  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

This  climate  seems  to  agree  with  us,  notwithstand- 
ing the  March  winds ;  we  are  both  better  in  health 
than  when  we  left  home.  We  either  go  out  for  our 
dinners  or  have  them  brought  to  us  in  a  thing  like  an 
air-tight  stove,  made  of  tin  with  a  fire  in  it  to  keep  the 
dinner  warm,  and  borne  on  the  head  of  the  porter. 
But  our  breakfast  is  the  meal  we  enjoy  most,  because 
we  cook  it  ourselves.  You  should  look  in  on  us  about 
that  time,  if  yon  would  see  two  busy  people.  I  get  up 
first,  and  in  a  very  hurried  costume  make  the  fire ; 
then  while  I  am  finishing  my  toilet,  Nelly  makes  the 
coffee  ;  then  I  come  in  for  the  eggs  and  toast,  because  I 
can  stand  fire  better  than  she.  It  would  please  you  to 
see  what  a  hurry  I  am  in  for  about  three  minutes ;  my 
eggs  are  boiling  in  a  porringer,  while  hers  are  simmer- 
ing in  a  saucer ;  then  the  bread  toasting  or  burning  on 
the  tongs,  and  the  milk  to  be  watched  that  it  does  n't 
boil  over.  When  all  is  done — judging  by  my  color,  as 
they  do  a  lobster  —  you  would  conclude  that  I  was 
done  too.  It  is  not  quite  such  a  breakfast  as  they  get 
up  over  at  the  palace ;  but  who,  think  you,  is  the  hap- 
pier man  about  this  time,  —  the  Grand  Duke  or  the 
artist?  But  when  we  talk  of  the  dear  ones  at  home, 
the  tears  will  come  into  our  eyes  and  occasionally  over- 
flow ;  and  what  is  very  remarkable,  they  never  appear 
in  the  eyes  of  one  but  they  immediately  blind  those  of 
the  other.  But  we  rather  enjoy  it  occasionally. 

From  Nellie  to  her  Mother. 

Holy  Thursday,  1855. 

I   went   to  the  Pitti  Palace  to-day  to  see  the  feej^ 
washing.    We  were  shown  into  a  large  room  where 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  193 


were  two  long  tables  laid  as  if  for  dinner.  One  half 
the  room  was  occupied  with  spectators.  Twelve  old 
women  dressed  in  black  with  white  caps  —  something 
like  a  nun's  dress  —  were  led  in  and  seated  in  a  row ; 
then  twelve  old  men  dressed  like  priests  ranging  in 
years  from  eighty-five  to  ninety-five,  —  the  oldest  in 
each  parish.  To  each  was  given  three  suits  of  clothes 
and  an  immense  basket  of  provisions,  ready  cooked ; 
also  a  knife,  fork  and  napkin,  spoon,  and  a  flask  of 
wine. 

Twelve  noblemen  and  as  many  noble  ladies  hav- 
ing uncovered  one  foot  of  each  of  the  old  people,  the 
Grand  Duke  and  Duchess  washed  them  from  a  golden 
basin  and  then  kissed  them;  the  Duchess  performing 
the  ceremony  for  the  females,  and  the  Duke  for  the 
males.  In  the  mean  time  some  priests  sang  a  sort  of 
Mass.  The  tables  were  decorated  with  flowers  ;  it  was 
quite  a  curious  sight.  After  the  feast  the  old  people 
had  each  a  purse  of  ten  francesconi  —  attached  to  a 
black  ribbon  —  hung  round  their  necks  by  the  Duke 
and  Duchess. 

After  this  I  visited  eleven  churches,  in  each  of  which 
was  an  altar  in  gold  and  silver,  with  a  great  many  flow- 
ers, most  of  them  artificial,  and  surrounded  with  no  end 
of  lighted  candles ;   making  it  look  like  a  fairy  scene 
in  the  theatre,  pleasing  the  children  very  much.      On 
most  of  the  altars  was  a  life-size  figure  of  Christ,  either 
in  wood  or  wax,  painted  in  natural  colors,  looking  as  if 
just  taken  from  the  cross  ;   the  blood  on  some  of  them  x 
was  dreadful  to  look  at,  and  the  people  crowded  for  a   \ 
chance  to  kiss  the  open  wounds. 

The  whole  Court  is  obliged  to  make  what  is  called 

13 


194  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

the  visit  of  the  seven  churches  on  this  day,  walking  the 
whole  distance ;  the  ladies  clothed  in  black,  with  long 
black  veils  on  their  heads. 

We  waited  in  one  of  the  churches  to  see  them.  Just 
before  the}7  appeared,  servants  brought  in  four  chairs  of 
velvet  and  gold  and  cloths  of  the  same  to  cover  the 
kneeling  desks  (humility!). 

The  Grand  Duke,  the  Duchess,  their  oldest  son,  and 
the  Dowager  Duchess  occupied  them  ;  the  others  of  the 
party  taking  the  common  benches.  They  came  in,  said 
their  prayers  for  about  five  minutes,  then  departed  for 
another  church.  .  .  . 

This  is  a  dirty  old  place  when  it  rains  ;  but  when  the 
sun  is  out,  nothing  can  be  more  charming  —  excepting 
Boston.  To-day  the  first  fruit-trees  are  in  blossom,  the 
sky  a  lovely  blue,  and  in  the  distance  on  all  sides 
mountains  covered  with  snow.  You  have  no  concep- 
tion how  beautiful  the  landscape  is.  ... 

Took  tea  the  other  evening  at  Mrs.  Macquay's.  A 
few  others  present ;  after  tea  a  little  music  and  danc- 
ing. .  .  .  We  go  frequently  to  Mrs.  Powers's  weekly 
receptions.  Last  Thursday  evening  was  a  very  pleas- 
ant one ;  a  small  company,  among  them  the  Kinneys 
and  the  Reads.  Tom  made  quite  a  furore  with  his 
singing;  the  last  song  without  accompaniment.  Mr. 
Kinney  thinks  he  has  the  —  etc.,  etc.;  and  I  doubt 
very  much  if  there  is  another —  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  .  .  . 

Heard  "  II  Trovatore"  again,  and  like  it  better  each 

time.     I  have  borrowed  the  opera  of  Miss  H to 

study,  and  will  sing  it  for  yon  when  I  return.  The 
man  who  took  the  bass  part  used  to  dig  sand  in  the 
Arno.  One  day  some  one  who  heard  him  singing 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  195 

thought  his  voice  so  remarkable  that  he  had  him 
taught.  He  has  a  magnificent  voice,  but  sings  with  no 
expression.  They  had  the  hardest  work  to  teach  him. 
the  words,  as  his  language  was  not  very  intelligible  to 
Italian  ears  polite.  They  said  last  winter  that  he 
walked  the  stage  as  though  through  water.  .  .  . 

Mr.  T.  B.  Read  hears  very  good  accounts  from 
America  of  the  reception  of  his  new  poem  ;  the  whole 
of  the  first  edition  is  sold,  and  he  has  received  very 
complimentary  letters  from  Professor  Longfellow  and 
others.  If  you  hear  it  spoken  of,  please  let  me  know. 
The  last  two  weeks  we  have  been  dining  at  the  res- 
taurant, where  we  meet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Read  and  the 
children,  who  are  also  tired  of  the  dinners  sent  in.  ... 

How  I  should  like  to  have  been  with  you  at  Signor 
Corelli's  soiree !  Very  funny,  the  very  same  week,  at 
Mrs.  Macquay's  musicale  they  sang  three  of  the  same 
pieces  that  were  in  jrour  programme,  —  Chorus  from 
"  Giuramento,"  Rossini's  "  Carita,"  and  the  "  Costa" 
Quartette.  I  think  the  pretty  girls  in  Corelli's  Chorus 
must  have  been  as  attractive  as  the  music.  .  .  . 

Tom  wishes  me  to  give  you  a  thousand  thanks  for 
the  newspapers  ;  he  has  not  ceased  to  wonder  what  put 
it  into  your  head  to  send  them  in  the  box.  We  have  not 
finished  the  u  Transcripts"  yet,  as  we  take  out  but  one 
a  day  in  the  order  of  their  dates.  They  are  quite  as 
good  to  us  as  though  fresh  from  the  office.  It  is  laugh- 
able to  hear  him  asking  for  u  to-day's  paper."  I  don't 
think  anything  seems  more  homelike  than  to  see  him 
sit  down  to  his  "  Transcript"  after  dinner. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FOB  the  second  year  I  managed  to  find  a  studio 
very  near  our  dwelling,  and  directly  opposite  Mr. 
Powers's.  It  was  one  good-sized  room,  which  was 
all  I  then  required,  as  I  had  given  up  the  idea  of  be- 
ing able  to  put  any  of  my  models  into  marble ;  so  I 
must  take  them  home  in  plaster.  For  this  room  I 
paid  twenty-five  francesconi  a  year,  one  quarter  of 
the  amount  I  had  been  paying.  Here  I  modelled 
a  statue  of  a  shipwrecked  boy,  showing  a  bit  of  the 
raft  to  which  he  was  clinging  with  one  hand  and 
waving  his  shirt  with  the  other.  It  made  a  pic- 
turesque composition,  too  much  so  I  feared  at  that 
time ;  but  in  these  realistic  days  it  would  be  con- 
sidered quite  pure  and  classic.  Indeed,  one  might 
now  introduce  the  whole  raft  for  this  one  little 
boy,  —  with  a  few  accessories,  such  as  a  hen-coop, 
for  instance,  and  two  or  three  of  the  traditional 
rats  who  always  desert  the  sinking  ship  (I  have 
often  wondered  where  they  go  when  they  desert),  — 
without  fear  of  criticism. 

The  modern  school  has  done  one  good  thing  for 
Art,  in  letting  in  daylight  to  their  studios.  The 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  197 

old  masters  assiduously  avoided  the  light  of  day,  as 
if  their  deeds  were  evil ;  whereas  they  were  much 
purer  than  those  of  the  modern  school.  One  of 
the  evils  of  this  broad  light  would  seem  to  be  the 
discovery  and  development  of  all  the  most  hideous 
phases  of  Nature  that  had  been  hitherto  concealed 
or  ignored  as  unworthy  of  Art.  And  these  honest, 
open-daylight  worshippers  have  pounced  upon  these 
horrors  and  indelicacies,  gloating  over  them  as 
something  new  and  interesting,  —  things  that  have 
been  too  long  hidden  from  the  world,  and  should 
now  be  brought  out  in  boldest  relief,  exaggerated 
and  made  the  most  of,  as  a  compensation  for 
having  been  so  long  neglected.  Purity  has  had 
her  day ;  it  's  time  she  retired,  and  made  room  for 
nightmares  and  nastiness. 

"  Nature  ! "  is  their  cry,  —  "  Nature  unextenuated." 

They  all  agree  that  Nature  they  '11  not  flatter, 

But  differ  in  their  ways  of  looking  at  her. 

One,  gifted  with  "  snap-shutter  "  vision,  thinks 

He  sees  enough  between  two  rapid  winks 

To  represent  Dame  Nature's  outside  dress: 

No  more  he  cares  to  see ;  he  could  not  less. 

Professing  t'  be  (alas  for  the  profession  I) 

Impressionist.     Alack !  for  the  impression 

His  work,  when  finished,  leaves  on  those  who  view  it, 

In  wonder  how  the  mischief  he  could  do  it ! 

Another  class,  impertinent  and  bold, 
Determine  that  the  truth  shall  now  be  told, 


198  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

Forgetting,  as  they  scan  with  searching  eye, 
That  truth,  too  strongly  told,  becomes  a  lie; 
They,  gazing  with  no  mercy  in  their  glance, 
Stare  modest  Nature  out  of  countenance; 
Exaggerating  faults  —  if  faults  they  be  — 
To  make  her  blush  for  her  deformity. 

Then  comes  eccentric  Genius  to  delight 
Our  eyes  with  a  pure  "  symphony  in  white," 
When  straight  a  host  of  imitators  rush 
Armed  with  a  single  tint,  a  single  brush, 
And  strive  our  sober  senses  to  beguile 
With  melodies  in  monochrome ;  the  while 
Our  great  original,  in  silver  gray, 
With  waggish  smile  goes  whistling  on  his  way. 

Yet,  spite  of  all  their  vagaries,  't  is  true 
,  That  pure  Art,  nurtured  by  the  earnest  few, 

Still  marches  on  with  measured  step  and  sure,  — 
Her  throne,  than  now,  was  never  more  secure; 
While  Nature,  studied  through  their  loving  eyes, 
Is  safe  from  insult.     Her  defects  they  prize; 
As  Music's  mighty  master  e'en  holds  dear 
The  discord,  which,  when  heard  alone,  the  ear 
Unskilled  abhors  the  sound  of,  but  which  he 
Resolves  into  the  noblest  harmony. 

Then  since  the  modern  school  lets  in  the  broad  daylight, 
If  it  but  serve  to  bring  new  beauties  into  sight, 
Pure,  earnest  Art,  ignoring  freak  and  eccentricity, 
Will  still  stand  firm  with  Nature  in  her  grand  simplicity. 

It  is  about  time  to  return  to  that  poor  boy  we 
left  floating  on  a  raft  in  mid-ocean.  This  subject 
gave  me  a  good  opportunity  to  study  the  youthful 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  199 

nude  figure,  which  was  very  valuable  to  me.  One 
day  when  the  statue  was  nearly  done,  an  old  friend 
who  had  been  spending  a  few  days  in  Florence, 
calling  to  say  good-by,  found  me  wrapping  up  my 
clay  boy  in  wet  cloths,  and  heard  me  regret  that  I 
had  not  a  proper  covering  for  him,  as  in  its  present 
stage  of  finish  the  wet  rags  marred  the  surface  by 
contact.  The  truth  was,  I  could  not  afford  the 
luxury  of  an  oil-cloth  case,  and  my  friend  divined 
the  fact.  As  he  was  going  out,  he  placed  a  Napo- 
leon on  my  trespolo,  saying,  "  For  the  poor  Sailor- 
boy,  to  keep  him  wet"  and  disappeared  before  I 
could  protest.  This  was  another  of  those  little, 
kind  acts  that  seemed  constantly  on  the  watch  for 
the  moment  of  my  necessity.  This  year  I  also 
modelled  a  statuette,  half  life-size,  of  my  old  friend, 
Washington  Allston;  a  bust  of  Napoleon  I.;  an- 
other portrait  bust  from  life,  for  which  I  was  paid 
a  little  more  than  enough  to  put  it  in  marble  (al- 
though it  was  for  a  millionnaire)  ;  and  a  study  for 
an  ideal  group,  "  The  Birth  of  Song,"  represented 
by  three  figures,  Music  and  Poetry  united  by  Love, 
which  however  was  never  carried  out. 

I  came  near  forgetting  that  in  this  room  I  also 
modelled  the  "  Signing  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence,"—  after  TrumbulPs  painting,  —  for  one 
of  the  panels  of  Greenough's  statue  of  Franklin. 
This,  with  the  one  for  the  opposite  panel,  was  my 


200  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

first  public  order.  While  at  work  on  the  Sailor- 
boy,  Powers  often  visited  me  to  bless  me  with  his 
criticism  and  advice.  He  was  at  that  time  model- 
ling his  statue  of  Webster  in  plaster,  having  en- 
tirely discarded  clay  for  modelling  anything  but 
his  portrait  busts.  He  had  invented  a  perforated 
file  that  cut  plaster  very  cleanly  and  beautifully, 
and  was  convinced  that  there  were  other  materials 
—  lead,  for  one  —  that  would  clog  the  common  file, 
and  for  which  his  invention  would  be  extensively 
and  constantly  demanded.  So  confident  was  he  of 
this  that  he  also  invented,  and  went  to  the  expense 
of  having  made,  quite  a  complicated  machine  for 
making  the  files,  the  use  of  which  in  his  modelling 
so  fascinated  him  that  he  declared  plaster  was 
much  superior  to  clay  for  that  purpose.  In  that  I 
could  not  agree  with  him,  although  subsequently  I 
was  obliged  from  necessity  to  model  my  most  im- 
portant work  (the  Washington)  in  that  ungrateful 
material.  This  I  will  explain  in  its  proper  place. 

Although  the  Italians  and  other  sculptors  smiled 
at  the  idea  of  modelling  in  plaster,  and  scoffed  at 
Powers's  files,  they  were  glad  enough  to  use  them 
in  touching  up  their  own  models,  when,  after  his 
patent  was  stolen  from  him,  they  could  buy  them 
in  Rome,  where  I  saw  them  on  sale,  —  the  identical 
thing,  but  not  from  his  hand. 

About  this  time  Joel  T.   Hart,  the  Kentucky 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  201 

sculptor,  not  to  be  outdone  by  Powers  in  mechani- 
cal invention,  was  perfecting  a  machine  for  taking 
points  from  the  living  model  and  transferring  them 
to  the  clay,  as  we  do  from  plaster  to  marble.  But 
to  do  this  he  was  obliged  to  take  all  the  points  at 
one  sitting,  after  propping  the  head  firmly,  as  used 
to  be  done  in  taking  the  early  photographs ;  only 
more  so,  as  the  movement  of  a  hair's  breadth  while 
the  operation  was  going  on  would  spoil  everything. 
Then  he  applied  a  sort  of  metal  frame,  which  sur- 
rounded the  head  at  the  distance  of  four  or  five 
inches ;  from  this  frame,  and  pointing  in  to  the 
face  and  from  every  direction,  were  innumerable 
steel  needles.  This  frame  was  supported  by  an 
upright  bar  screwed  §rmly  to  the  chair.  The 
whole  machine  reminded  me  of  that  inquisitorial 
instrument  of  torture  called,  I  think,  the  "  Scaven- 
ger's Daughter."  When  all  was  ready,  these  nee- 
dles were  carefully  pushed  in  one  after  the  other 
till  they  just  touched  the  skin,  and  so  fastened, 
when  the  instrument  was  opened  and  the  victim 
liberated.  The  machine  was  now  applied  to  the 
clay,  which  was  then  built  out  to  the  points  of  the 
needles.  It  was  very  ingenious ;  but  no  other  mor- 
tal would  ever  make  use  of  it,  and  he  never  would 
have  used  it  had  any  other  mortal  invented  it.  I 
go  to  sleep  over  my  own  inventions  every  night. 
I  find  them  capital  soporifics,  invariably  leading 


202  MY  THREESCOEE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

me  into  dreamland  before  I  can  overtake  the  idea. 
Every  sculptor  should  possess  a  certain  amount  of 
mechanical  genius  to  enable  him  to  set  up  and 
carry  through  successfully  a  model  of  any  impor- 
tance. I  have  more  than  once  made  for  myself 
extra  trouble  by  employing  assistants  —  to  put  up 
the  irons  and  pack  the  clay  —  who  have  proved  to 
be  incapable.  The  irons  would  crop  out  when  and 
where  least  expected  or  desired.  When  I  place 
the  irons  and  pack  the  clay  myself,  I  know  just 
where  to  find  them  if  I  wish  to  make  any  change ; 
and  they  seldom  appear  on  the  surface  when  not 
wanted.  But  there  are  skilled  workmen  who  are 
usually  employed  by  the  sculptor  to  perform  this 
labor,  doing  it  to  perfection  from  his  small  model ; 
and  as  I  get  older  I  am  more  and  more  inclined  to 
shirk  this  fatiguing,  mechanical  part  of  the  work. 
I  would  here  remark,  again,  for  the  benefit  of  be- 
ginners, that  the  principal  iron,  to  hold  firmly  the 
weight  of  clay  in  a  three-foot  upright  figure,  should 
be  one  inch  square,  and  in  the  same  proportion  for 
larger  figures ;  for  instance,  for  one  of  twelve  feet 
an  iron  of  four  inches  in  diameter  is  none  too 
large,  if  you  wish  to  feel  perfectly  secure  from 
oscillation  in  turning  it  about. 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

OUR  second  summer  in  Florence  was  now  ad- 
vancing, and  we  began  to  make  our  preparations 
for  going  home.  "  What !  without  seeing  Rome  ? " 
Yes,  without  seeing  Rome.  We  expected  no  less 
than  that  some  of  our  friends  at  home  would  look 
upon  us  as  a  couple  of  heathen,  and  perhaps  turn 
their  backs  upon  us,  as  Lord  Byron  is  said  to  have 
done  to  an  American  he  met  in  London,  upon 
learning  that  he  had  not  seen  Niagara  Falls ;  and 
with  about  as  much  sense  or  reason.  The  fact 
was,  we  could  not  afford  it.  The  journey  could  not 
then  be  made  as  easily  as  now ;  our  money  was 
getting  low ;  the  reserved  fund  put  aside  to  take  us 
home  must  not  be  touched  for  any  other  purpose ; 
and  above  all,  we  felt  so  confident  that  we  should 
return  to  Italy  before  many  years,  that  we  were  pa- 
tient to  wait,  and  allowed  no  regrets  to  trouble  us. 
We  had  made  many  warm  friends  during  our  so- 
journ in  Florence,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  more 
than  one  of  them,  if  they  had  heard  us  express  dis- 
appointment or  regret  at  not  being  able  to  see 
Rome  before  our  departure  from  Italy,  would  have 
sent  us  at  their  own  expense,  had  we  permitted  it. 


204  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

As  an  example  of  their  kind  thoughts  toward 
us,  a  few  weeks  before  we  left,  a  gentleman  called 
at  the  studio,  whom  we  had  met  but  once  or  twice 
in  society,  and  asked  if  it  were  true  that  we  were 
about  going  home.  I  told  him  yes,  we  were  going 
where  I  was  sure  of  getting  a  living,  which  I  was 
fearful  of  not  being  able  to  do  in  Italy.  He  asked 
me,  with  a  smile  and  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  worthy 
of  the  "  Cheery ble  Brothers  "  :  "  How  does  your 
money  hold  out  ?  Enough  to  get  home  with  hey  ?  " 
"  Oh,  yes,"  I  said,  "  I  had  been  careful  to  look  out 
for  that."  "  Wise  young  man !  "  clapping  me  on 
the  shoulder.  "  I  came  from  Boston  myself ;  now 
I  want  you  to  take  this,"  taking  from  his  pocket  a 
five-hundred  franc  bill,  "  so  as  to  feel  comfortable 
in  case  anything  should  happen  to  detain  you  on 
your  journey.  You  can  pay  me  back,  you  know, 
whenever  it 's  convenient."  I  could  not  wound  a 
Boston  heart  by  refusing,  and  accepted  it  with  the 
above  understanding.  Now,  this  old  gentleman 
was  a  Mr.  Earl,  whom,  no  doubt,  some  of  my  day 
and  generation  will  remember  as  the  landlord  of 
the  celebrated  "  Earl's  Coffee-House  "  in  Elm  Street, 
whence  most  of  the  stages  and  mail-coaches  used 
to  start  before  the  days  of  railroads. 

A  short  time  after  Mr.  Earl's  visit  I  received  an- 
other angel,  —  this  time,  a  lady  who  was  a  perfect 
stranger  to  me, — when  a  conversation  passed  similar 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  205 

to  that  with  Friend  Earl ;  seeming  almost  as  if  there 
had  been  an  arrangement  between  them,  although 
his  name  was  not  mentioned,  and  I  don't  know 
that  they  had  ever  met.  She  said,  finally,  that  she 
was  sorry  she  could  not  give  me  a  commission  that 
would  keep  me  in  Florence  as  long  as  I  would  like 
to  stay.  But  as  she  was  not  able,  would  I  be  kind 
enough  to  do  her  a  little  favor  when  I  returned  to 
Boston  ?  I  told  her  I  should  be  most  happy  to ; 
thinking  she  had  some  little  article  which  she 
wished  me  to  put  in  my  trunk  for  a  friend.  She 
then  handed  me  a  bit  of  paper  which  she  said  was 
an  order  on  her  banker  in  Boston  for  one  hundred 
dollars,  and  which  she  wished  I  would  be  kind 
enough  to  cash,  and  keep  the  money,  as  she  was 
sure  I  would  find  use  for  it  in  fitting  up  a  new  stu- 
dio. So  delicately  put,  I  accepted,  promising  to 
use  it  if  my  necessities  actually  required  it,  with 
the  understanding  that  she  should  not  be  offended 
if  the  check  were  never  cashed. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  some  that  I  should  not 
have  felt  the  slightest  depression  of  my  dignity  in 
accepting  the  two  unsolicited  loans ;  but  I  could  not 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  wound  the  feelings  of  these 
two  kind  souls,  or  disappoint  them  in  the  happiness 
they  derived  from  feeling  that  they  had  done  a 
kind  and  generous  act.  I  resolved,  however,  and 
indeed  told  them,  that  on  no  account  should  I  use 


206  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

their  bounty  but  in  case  of  emergency ;  and  I  felt 
confident  that  upon  arriving  home  I  should  be  all 
right,  and  would  not  find  it  necessary  to  touch  this 
money.  Nor  did  I ;  for  when  Mr.  Earl  returned 
to  Boston,  I  had  the  pleasant  satisfaction  of  pay- 
ing him  with  the  same  bill  that  he  gave  me,  which 
he  was  loath  to  receive  until  I  told  him  that  I 
was  "  out  of  the  woods."  The  lady  returned  the 
next  year,  when  I  gave  her  back  her  uncashed 
check  minus  the  signature,  which  I  tore  off  and 
kept  for  the  autograph.  It  read,  "  D.  L.  Dix " 
(Miss  Dorothy),  —  a  name  that  will  be  widely  re- 
membered as  belonging  to  one  of  those  saints  who 
find  their  chief  happiness  in  going  about  doing 
good. 

Not  long  before  we  left  Florence,  I  read  in  an 
American  paper  that  a  project  was  on  foot  in  Bos- 
ton to  erect  in  that  city  an  equestrian  statue  of 
Washington.  I  immediately  began  to  study  the 
anatomy  of  the  horse,  intending,  on  my  return 
home,  to  make  a  model,  hoping  the  commission 
might  come  my  way.  But  I  soon  learned  from 
another  journal  that  a  committee  had  been  formed 
to  raise  money  for  the  purpose  of  engaging  Thomas 
Crawford  to  make  the  equestrian  statue ;  upon 
which,  I  gave  up  the  idea  I  had  contemplated.  I 
never  saw  Crawford  but  once,  and  that  was  when 
he  was  passing  through  Florence  for  the  last  time, 


MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN.  207 

on  his  way  to  Paris  ;  he  called  on  me  at  my  studio. 
I  have  always  remembered  his  visit  most  pleas- 
antly; not  because  he  praised  my  work,  but  that 
his  criticisms,  from  his  kind  manner,  seemed  to  be 
compliments.  He  congratulated  me  upon  my  Napo- 
leon and  Allston,  and  left  me  feeling  that  I  could 
work  better  and  happier  for  having  seen  him. 

I  now  began  to  pack  up  my  models  preparatory 
to  leaving  la  bella  Firenze,  where  we  had  spent  two 
such  happy  years,  always  to  be  looked  upon  with 
delight.  Yes, -beautiful  Florence,  notwithstanding 
her  dark  and  dirty  streets  when  the  sun  went 
down  or  refused  to  shine  upon  her. 

By  the  by,  I  wish  to  modify  my  previous  state- 
ment in  regard  to  the  infrequency  of  burglaries  in 
Florence.  It  was  true  at  that  time,  but  now  they 
surely  have  become  more  enlightened ;  for,  day  be- 
fore yesterday,  upon  first  appearing  in  the  morning, 
I  was  informed  that  during  the  night  my  garden 
wall  had  been  scaled,  my  hen-house  broken  into, 
and  every  blessed  fowl,  male  and  female,  carried 
off.  I  was  told  that  I  must  inform  the  police  of 
the  burglary,  or  I  should  be  heavily  fined.  I  ac- 
cordingly gave  notice  at  the  police-office,  and  they 
immediately  sent  out  two  gendarmes  to  examine 
the  premises,  particularly  the  wall  and  the  bereft 
hen-house,  and  to  gather  all  the  information  the 
gardener  could  give  them.  This  was  not  enough ; 


208  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

yesterday  I  was  formally  summoned  to  appear  in 
person  at  the  office  at  nine  o'clock  this  morning, 
under  an  awful  penalty  if  I  failed,  as  if  I  had  stolen 
my  own  hens !  Well,  I  did  n't  wish  the  hens  to 
cost  more  to  lose  than  it  did  to  keep  them ;  so  I 
went,  and  was  put  through  a  series  of  questions 
as  to  my  place  of  birth,  my  age,  my  father's  name, 
the  height  of  my  back  wall,  that  of  my  iron  fence 
and  gate,  the  number  of  the  fowls,  what  they  cost, 
—  which  latter  I  could  not  answer  because  they 
were  all  born  on  the  place,  with  the  exception  of 
the  original  aged  couple,  who  were  of  foreign  breed; 
so  they  were  recorded  as  forestieri  (foreigners). 
Then,  after  writing  several  pages  legal  size,  the 
officer  read  it  to  me,  rattling  it  off  like  a  custom- 
house oath,  and  passed  it  to  me  to  sign,  which  I 
did,  although  I  was  not  sure  it  was  not  my  death- 
warrant.  I  was  then  told  I  could  go,  and  my  gar- 
dener was  called  in.  I  went  away  with  the  firm 
conviction  —  after  having  lost  my  hens,  half  a  day 
of  sunlight,  and  two  half-days  of  my  gardener's 
time  —  that  a  burglary  in  Italy  was  an  expensive 
luxury ;  which  was  probably  the  reason  of  their 
rarity. 

But  to  return  to  my  packing.  This  was  soon 
accomplished,  and  we  left  Florence  near  the  end  of 
September,  with  many  regrets  and  some  tears  as 
we  caught  the  last  glimpse  of  her  glorious  old 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  209 

Duomo*  We  had  a  pleasant  voyage  across  (all  but 
the  first  three  days),  and  sailed  up  our  beautiful 
harbor  on  the  morning  of  the  10th  of  October, — 
the  second  anniversary  of  our  wedding,  just  two 
years  from  the  time  we  departed.  'T  was  a  happy 
wedding-dinner  we  were  welcomed  to  that  day,  — 
no  missing  face,  no  vacant  place;  all  just  as  if 
we  'd  been  away  but  two  short  weeks  instead  of 
years,  or  that  those  years  had  been  a  dream,  and 
I  must  now  again  begin  my  precious  girl  to  woo 
and  win.  But  I  realized  it  all  when  I  began  the 
next  day  to  look  for  a  studio,  and  found  a  dentist 
occupying  my  dear  old  garret,  the  scene  of  my 
twelve  years'  struggles  and  the  dawning  of  my 
success. 

I  finally  found  a  studio  in  the  Mercantile  Library 
Building,  Summer  Street.  But  it  seemed  odd  to 
be  obliged  to  mount  three  flights  of  stairs,  after 
working  two  years  on  the  stone  pavement  of  a 
ground  floor.  I  think  my  first  work  in  my  new 
studio  was  to  model  the  second  bas-relief  for  the 
pedestal  of  the  Franklin  statue,  —  the  subject,  the 
Signing  of  the  Treaty  of  Peace  in  Paris.  After 
that  I  made  a  statuette  of  Henry  Clay,  as  a  com- 
panion to  my  Webster.  To  me  it  was  not  as  suc- 
cessful as  the  latter,  although  it  called  forth  the 
following  complimentary  note  from  Hon.  Edward 
Everett :  — 

14 


210  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN. 

BOSTON,  Sept.  13,  1858. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  much  pleasure  in  expressing  the 
opinion  that  Mr.  Ball  has  been  completely  successful  in 
his  statuette  of  Mr.  Clay,  as  respects  both  the  face  and 
the  person.  The  likeness  is  excellent,  and  the  carriage 
of  the  figure  true  to  life.  It  appears  to  me  in  all  re- 
spects equal  to  his  similar  statuette  of  Mr.  Webster. 

EDWARD  EVERETT. 

Upon  second  thought,  I  believe  my  first  work 
after  my  return  was  the  bust  of  my  dear  friend, 
Rev.  Dr.  Ephraim  Peabody,  who  died  a  few  days 
after  my  arrival.  The  bust  was  ordered  to  be 
placed  in  the  chancel  of  King's  Chapel. 

I  next  received  a  commission,  from  the  alumni  of 
Dartmouth  College,  to  make  a  bust  of  President 
Lord  of  that  institution.  In  1859  Hon.  Rufus 
Choate  died,  and  I  immediately  made  a  bust  of 
him,  the  marble  of  which  is  now  in  the  Law 
Library  in  Boston.  I  also  this  same  year  mod- 
elled cabinet  busts  of  the  historian  William  H. 
Prescott  and  Henry  Ward  Beecher.  The  latter 
was  a  commission  I  was  obliged  to  go  to  New  York 
to  fulfil ;  and  the  reverend  gentleman  consented  to 
sit  to  me  only  on  condition  that  I  would  go  over  to 
his  house  in  Brooklyn  every  morning,  take  break- 
fast with  him,  and  have  the  sitting  immediately 
after, — which  I  enjoyed  very  much,  not  only  for  the 
pleasure  of  modelling  from  his  deep,  broad,  pleas- 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  211 

ant  face,  but  of  listening  to  his  sermons  as  they 
were  pouring  fresh  from  the  mould  ;  for  he  always 
had  a  shorthand  reporter  writing  from  his  dicta- 
tion, which,  although  I  enjoyed  the  entertainment, 
seemed  to  me  a  little  affected.  But  he  had  an 
original  way  of  doing  most  things.  For  instance, 
I  dined  with  him  one  day ;  and  when  the  "  joint " 
was  to  be  removed,  instead  of  allowing  the  servant 
to  reach  awkwardly  round  him  to  take  away  the 
dish,  which  was  about  two  feet  in  length,  he  quietly 
took  it  with  both  hands,  raised  it  high  above  his 
head,  and  so  passed  it  over  to  the  man,  who  stood 
behind  him ;  then  looked  over  to  me  with  a  wink, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  What  do  you  think  of  that,  my 
boy  ?  That 's  my  own  invention."  I  really  think  it 
was,  for  I  never  saw  it  done  before,  and  I  believe 
he  did  it  then  for  my  special  entertainment;  for 
Mrs.  Beecher  —  the  only  other  person  present  — 
exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Henry ! "  in  a  tone  that  expressed 
her  sorrowful  conviction  that  he  was  an  incorri- 
gible boy.  I  don't  think  she  quite  liked  the  idea 
of  his  sitting  for  his  bust,  —  I  am  sure  he  did 
not  waste  much  time  over  it,  —  for  she  would  not 
look  at  it,  and  I  don't  know  to  this  day  if  she  has 
ever  seen  it.  I  enjoyed  the  hours  I  spent  on  it, 
and  the  kind  attention  they  both  paid  me  while  I 
was  doing  it. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

To  retrace  our  steps  two  years.  I  think  it  was 
in  1857  the  news  came  of  the  death  of  poor  Craw- 
ford, in  consequence  of  which  the  idea  of  the 
equestrian  statue  was  given  up  by  its  original  pro- 
jectors. Feeling  quite  sure  it  would  come  up  again, 
I  resolved  that  I  would  be  prepared  for  such  an 
event. 

The  next  year  I  had  finished  a  model  half  life- 
size,  which,  when  finished,  pleased  so  much  that 
the  artists  held  a  meeting,  April  8, 1859,  Benjamin 
Champney,  chairman ;  William  Willard,  secretary ; 
at  which  the  following  resolutions  were  unanimously 
adopted :  — 

First,  That  it  is  desirable  to  adorn  the  metropolis  of 
New  England  with  an  equestrian  statue  of  Washington, 
to  be  erected  in  some  suitable  public  place. 

Second,  That  the  statue  should  be  the  work  of  a 
resident  artist,  and  should  be  cast  in  Massachusetts. 

Third,  That  the  model  of  an  equestrian  statue  of 
Washington  by  T.  Ball  is  a  work  of  great  artistic  ex- 
cellence, which,  enlarged  to  colossal  proportions  and 
cast  in  bronze,  would  be  an  enduring  honor  to  the 
city. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  213 

Fourth,  That  a  committee  of  ten  be  chosen  for  the 
purpose  of  procuring  such  a  statue,  executed  by  Thomas 
Ball,  and  placed  by  them  on  some  appropriate  site. 

Fifth,  That  we  will  heartily  aid  the  Committee  in  any 
method  which  they  may  desire  to  raise  funds  for  the 
object. 

The  following  gentlemen  were  unanimously  cho- 
sen to  carry  out  the  object  of  this  meeting:  — 

COMMITTEE. 

Hon.  Alexander  H.  Rice,  Mr.  Warren  Sawyer. 

Chairman.  Mr.  George  H.  Chickering. 

Hon.  Thomas  Russell.  Mr.  Charles  G.  Loring, 
S.  E.  Guild,  Esq.  Secretary. 

Mr.  John  D.  W.  Joy,  Mr.  Hammatt  Billings. 

Treasurer.  Mr.  Benjamin  Champney. 

Mr.  F.  H.  Underwood. 

The  undersigned  fully  approve  of  the  above  proceed- 
ings, and  pledge  their  hearty  co-operation. 

ARTISTS.  , 

Moses  White.  B.  Champney. 

Charles  Pressey.  John  C.  King. 

Thomas  R.  Gould.  Alfred  Ordway. 

William  Willard.  Alonzo  Hartwell. 

Samuel  W.  Griggs.  William  H.  Hanley. 

M.  G.  Wheelock.  J.  H.  Young. 

Joseph  Ames.  F.  H.  Hinkley. 

Walter  M.  Brackett.  F.  D.  Williams. 

Alvan  Fisher.  M.  F.  Foley. 

W.  A.  Gay.  Jane  Stuart. 


214  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

Albert  Bierstadt.  F.  S.  Frost. 

W.  Ralph  Emerson.  S.  P.  Hodgdon. 

Charles  A.  Cummings.  Thomas  H.  Johnson. 

D.  C.  Jonston.  George  Snell. 

George  Howarth.  George  Curtis. 

George  G.  Smith.  H.  Kurtz. 

Julius  Kummer.  Thomas  T.  Spear. 

S.  T.  Darrah.  Charles  A.  Knight. 

S.  A.  Clark.  George  H.  Tappan. 

Alexander  Ransom.  Samuel  L.  Gerry. 

J.  Morviller.  F.  Rondell. 
E.  A.  Brackett. 

These  names  of  the  Committee,  as  well  as  those 
of  the  Boston  artists,  who  started  the  enterprise, 
and  who  worked  so  diligently  and  so  successfully 
to  its  complete  development,  I  take  great  pleasure 
in  placing  upon  record  here,  to  prove  that  I  still 
remember  with  gratitude  that  they  opened  to  me 
the  road  to  Fame  and  Fortune. 

This  was  the  first  meeting  in  regard  to  the  sub- 
ject that  I  heard  of ;  but  I  find  from  a  short  history 
of  the  statue  prepared  for  the  "  Boston  Journal," 
at  the  time  of  the  inauguration,  that  there  had 
been  two  preliminary  meetings  of  my  friends  at  the 
studio  of  Mr.  Champney.1 

1  See  Appendix. 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

ABOUT  this  time  orders  and  honors  began  to  flow 
in  upon  me.  A  committee  from  Lexington  applied 
to  me  for  a  statue  of  the  "  Minute-Man  "  of  the 
Revolution,  to  be  erected  on  the  first  battle-ground. 
They  approved  of  and  paid  for  the  small  model; 
and  a  contract  was  drawn  up,  signed,  and  ex- 
changed for  the  modelling  of  the  colossal  figure, 
which  was  to  be  fifteen  feet  high.  But  this  colossal 
was  not  to  be  begun  until  they  should  feel  quite 
sure  that  the  money  would  be  forthcoming  to  pay 
for  it,  —  which,  as  it  turned  out,  was  very  proper 
and  prudent  on  their  part ;  for  shortly  after  this  the 
Great  Rebellion  broke  out,  rendering  it  impossible 
to  raise  money  for  any  other  object  than  to  keep  the 
country  together,  and  to  provide  sustenance  for  the 
glorious  defenders,  too  many  of  whom  —  it  was 
found  at  the  close  of  the  war  —  had  laid  down  their 
lives  in  the  struggle  for  her  defence.  These  must 
be  honored  with  statues  and  monuments  before  in- 
dulging in  any  abstract  idea  connected  with  the 
more  remote  past.  So  the  Minute-Man  of  Lexing- 
ton fell  through.  But  in  a  few  years  the  idea  was 


216  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN. 

adopted  and  carried  out  by  the  town  of  Concord, 
Mass. ;  and  the  spirited  figure  by  my  young  friend 
Daniel  C.  French  is  the  result.  In  1859  I  also 
received  an  order  from  friends  in  Boston  of  Edwin 
Forrest,  for  a  statue  of  the  great  tragedian  in  the 
character  of  Coriolanus. 

One  honor  that  was  paid  me  not  long  after  this 
I  must  mention,  a  I  have  always  been  very  proud 
of  it,  although  no  one  out  of  my  own  family  has 
been  the  wiser  for  it.  Having  been  called  upon 
previous  to  this  to  make  a  bust  of  President  Lord 
of  Dartmouth  College,  the  work  when  finished  in 
marble  giving  universal  satisfaction  to  the  students 
who  paid  for  it,  as  well  as  to  the  College  Faculty, 
and  considering  my  successful  statue  and  bust  of 
two  of  their  most  eminent  alumni,  Rufus  Choate 
and  Daniel  Webster,  the  honorable  degree  of  Master 
of  Arts  was  conferred  upon  me.  As  I  alone  have 
been  aware  of  this  honor  for  the  last  thirty  years, 
I  think  I  may  be  pardoned  the  vanity  (if  vanity 
it  be)  of  adding  those  honorable  initials  A.  M.  after 
my  name  on  the  titlepage. 

By  the  way,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  done 
nothing  but  apologize  for  my  vanity  ever  since  I 
began  these  memoirs.  In  fact,  I  have  had  a  hard 
struggle  between  modesty  and  vanity.  Indeed,  I 
know  no  parallel  to  it,  unless  it  be  that  of  "  Garrick 
between  Tragedy  and  Comedy,"  —  a  subject  that  in- 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  217 

spired  Sir  Joshua  to  one  of  his  noblest  efforts ;  nor 
will  it  surprise  me  if  in  a  hundred  years  from  now 
some  future  Sir  Joshua  invites  me  to  pose  for  the 
bone  of  contention  in  the  great  struggle  between 
Modesty  and  Vanity.  But  the  latter  must  be  repre- 
sented by  none  of  your  airy  nothings  that  she  is 
generally  supposed  to  be,  but  by  a  robust,  muscular 
female,  capable  of  winding  her  co-contestant,  Mod- 
esty, round  her  little  finger.  I  find  that  I  must 
stifle  one  or  the  other ;  between  the  two  they  would 
deprive  me  of  everything  of  interest  to  the  reader. 
The  former  is  continually  whispering,  "  Don't  say 
that !  Although  it 's  the  truth,  it  sounds  so  con- 
ceited ; "  while  Vanity  protests,  "  Don't  talk  about 
that,  for  mercy's  sake  !  You  have  kept  it  to  your- 
self all  these  years ;  what 's  the  use  of  raking  it  out 
now  ? "  So  I  have  decided  in  future  to  pocket 
Modesty,  —  as  she  will  occupy  the  smaller  pocket 
of  the  two,  —  and  give  Vanity,  who  is  the  livelier 
talker,  full  swing,  or  nearly  so. 

I  remember  one  time,  when  I  was  beginning  to 
be  talked  about  in  connection  with  the  Washington 
statue,  that  Modesty  had  her  sway  ;  and  what  came 
of  it  ?  I  was  deprived  of  the  honor  of  having  my 
portrait  nicely  engraved  for  the  most  popular  pic- 
torial of  the  day.  It  came  about  in  this  way  :  One 
day  I  received  a  note  from  the  editor  and  propri- 
etor of  "  Ballou's  Pictorial,"  requesting  the  favor  of 


218  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

an  interview.     When  I  called  on  him,  he  informed 
me  that,  as  I  was  aware,  he  was  publishing  a  series 
of   biographical   sketches   of   eminent  Americans, 
with  their  portraits  handsomely  engraved ;  and  that 
he  had  mine  already  begun  on  the  block,  and  was 
desirous  of  obtaining  from  me  some  items  of  in- 
terest to  enable  him  to  write  the  biography  part. 
Well,  to  say  I  was  abashed  at  his  words  is  altogether 
too  mild  a  term.     I  was  appalled  and  frightened ; 
the  cold  perspiration  started  out  from  every  pore. 
I  begged  him  with  trembling  voice  to  desist.    At 
this  he  was  the  more  astonished  of  the  two.     He 
could  not  imagine  what  objection  I   could   possi- 
bly have.     He  had  already  published   several   of 
the  series,  —  Hon.  Edward   Everett,  Henry  Ward 
Beecher,  Hammatt   Billings   the  architect,  and   a 
number  of  others ;  and  of  all  he  had  invited  only 
one  before  me  had  declined  the  honor,  and  that 
was  Edwin  P.  Whipple,  the  critic  and  essayist.     I 
said  to  myself,  "  Bravo,  E.  P.  W. !  "  but  to  the  edi- 
tor that  I  had  a  better  excuse  than  Mr.  Whipple 
for  declining,  because  he  had   performed,  while  I 
had  only  promised ;  and  if  he  would  wait  till  I  had 
executed  some  work  of  importance  I  should  be  proud 
of  the  honor  he  offered  me,  while  now  I  feared  he 
would  only  be  holding  me  up  to  ridicule.     "  Well," 
he  said,  "  if  you  feel  so  about  it,  I  will  go  no  further 
at  present."     But  he  never  invited  me  again. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  219 

That's  what  came  of  listening  to  the  voice  of 
Modesty.  Now  that  I  have  smothered  her,  I  am 
determined  to  take  my  revenge  by  introducing  two 
portraits  of  myself  into  this  work,  instead  of  one  ; 
for  Vanity  assures  me  that  my  readers  will  he 
pleased  to  see  me  as  I  was  when  I  did  my  first 
work  in  Sculpture,  and  also  advises  me  strongly  to 
leave  out  that  wrinkled  gray  beard,  and  substitute 
for  a  frontispiece  one  taken  in  my  prime,  say  forty- 
five.  But  here  I  put  my  foot  down.  I  shall  appear 
in  the  middle  and  at  the  end  of  my  threescore  years 
and  ten ;  and  if  I  had  a  picture  taken  at  the  begin- 
ning, I  would  put  that  in  too. 

And  now  I  wish  to  ask  my  kind  readers  one 
plain  question,  and  I  expect  a  candid  answer. 
When  I  first  introduced  my  lady-love  (now  my 
wife)  to  you  in  these  pages,  if  you  had  been  told 
there  was  a  portrait  of  her  somewhere  in  the  book, 
would  you  not  have  stopped  then  and  there  to  look 
for  it,  if  only  from  curiosity  to  see  what  manner  of 
woman  had  had  the  courage  to  link  her  lot  with 
mine  ?  Of  course  you  would.  That  being  the  case, 
and  wishing  to  make  these  pages  as  interesting  to 
you  as  possible,  I  intend  to  gratify  your  curiosity ; 
and  I  expect  to  have  a  time  of  it  when  she  reads  this 
manuscript,  as  she  will  be  the  first  to  do  when  it 
shall  be  completed.  But  you  will  see  that  I  shall 
conquer  in  the  end. 


220  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

The  scene  will  be  something  like  the  following, 
when  she  reads  the  promise  I  have  made  above  :  — 

SHE  (with  a  most  alarmed  expression).  My  dear! 
what  are  you  thinking  about  ?  Is  it  not  enough  for  you 
to  lug  in  our  foolish  courtship,  without  — 

I  (interrupting).   Stop,  my  love,  was  it  foolish? 

SHE.  Well,  let  that  pass ;  but  I  shall  never  consent 
to  have  my  portrait  exhibited  to  strangers.  Besides, 
of  what  possible  interest  could  it  be  to  any  one  ?  You 
are  not  writing  my  life. 

I.  Am  I  not?  Whose  life  is  it,  if  not  j'ours?  Who 
has  made  it  what  it  has  been,  —  a  happy  one, — but 
you?  Whom  does  it  belong  to,  but  you?  Is  it  a  life 
worth  writing  about,  any  way  ? 

SHE  (with  enthusiasm).    Yes,  certainly  it  is. 

I.  Think  you,  I  can  appear  as  I  was  when  our 
two  lives  were  first  joined  in  one,  without  you  ? 

SHE  (softened).  But  how  would  you  get  a  likeness 
of  me  at  that  time? 

(I  then  bring  forward  an  old  daguerreotype  taken  for 
me  when  we  were  engaged,  and  which  she  has  perhaps 
forgotten.} 

SHE  {on  looking  at  it}.  Mercy!  look  at  the  hair! 
You  certainly  would  not  wish  me  to  appear  with  my 
hair  dressed  in  that  fashion,  would  you? 

I  (looking  tenderly  at  her).  I  did  not  object  to  it 
when  you  gave  it  to  me  thirty-five  years  ago  ;  nor  do  I 
now,  only  that  it  covers  your  dear  little  ears ;  but  as 
long  as  it  does  not  hide  your  precious  eyes,  I  do  not 
mind. 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN.  221 

SHE  (much  softened).  How  silly  you  do  talk ! 
Well,  do  as  you  please  ;  but  I  wash  my  hands  of  it.  I 
am  not  responsible  for  your  sentiment,  at  any  rate. 

Now,  dear  reader,  having  at  length  gained  her 
reluctant  consent,  I  present  her  to  you  face  to  face, 
begging  your  kind  indulgence  for  the  hair,  and 
proceed  with  my  narrative. 

Having  made  the  design  for  my  big  studio,  and 
set  the  men  at  work  at  it,  on  the  premises  of  Chick- 
ering  &  Sons,  Piano  Factory,  Tremont  Street,  I 
proceeded  to  Philadelphia  to  model  from  life  the 
head  of  the  great  tragedian  Edwin  Forrest,  and 
to  make  some  sketches  and  measurements  from  his 
figure.  This  latter  he  gave  me  a  good  opportunity 
of  doing  in  his  dressing-room  behind  the  scenes,  be- 
tween his  exits  and  entrances.  He  was  then  play- 
ing an  engagement  at  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre. 
His  skin-fitting  costume  in  "  Spartacus  "  being  par- 
ticularly favorable  to  the  study  of  his  stalwart  fig- 
ure, I  measured  him  pretty  thoroughly  throughout ; 
he  standing  patiently  till  the  call-boy  gave  the 
"  stage- waiting  "  signal,  when  he  would  go  on  and 
through  his  scene,  returning  to  lend  himself  again 
to  my  calipers. 

I  found  him  a  most  amiable  great  bear,  at  some 
moments  as  tender  as  a  woman.  For  example,  he 
came  to  my  hotel  the  first  evening  after  my  arrival, 
—  having  previously  arranged  to  sit  to  me  for  his 


222  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

bust  the  next  morning,  —  bringing  a  letter  for  me 
addressed  to  his  care  ;  and  when  I  apologized,  ex- 
pressing my  regret  that  he  should  have  taken  the 
trouble  to  bring  it  to  me  when  he  was  to  meet  me 
the  next  morning,  he  in  his  deepest  and  softest 
tones  exclaimed :  "  From  the  handwriting  of  the 
address,  I  thought  it  might  be  from  your  wife; 
think  you  I  could  calmly  keep  it  from  you  over 
night  ?  "  I  told  him  it  was  from  her,  and  thanked 
him  for  his  kind  thought.  This  at  the  time  when 
the  trial  was  going  on  to  determine  the  amount  of 
alimony  to  be  paid  by  him  to  his  wife,  from  whom 
he  had  separated!  Wherever  the  fault  lay,  I  pit- 
ied him  at  that  moment  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart. 

After  having  finished  this  bust,  I  returned  to 
Boston,  where  I  modelled  the  statuette,  much  to 
the  satisfaction  of  himself  and  his  friends. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

BY  this  time  my  big  barn  of  a  studio  was  about 
ready  to  be  entered.  It  was  simply  a  wooden 
shell,  sixty  by  forty  feet,  and  thirty  feet  high;  built 
directly  on  the  top  of  the  ground,  merely  a  few 
timbers  being  laid  down  for  a  foundation.  A  big 
turn-table  like  those  used  on  railroads  for  turning 
locomotives,  and  a  derrick  at  one  side,  strong 
enough  to  lift  the  man  off  and  on  the  horse  if 
necessary,  completed  the  studio  equipments. 

The  first  time  I  entered,  I  had  not  been  there  an 
hour,  before  I  heard  a  rap  on  the  door.  Upon 
opening  it,  I  was  met  by  a  bright-looking  boy  who 
wished  to  know  if  I  took  pupils.  I  told  him  no ; 
that  I  had  never  received  pupils  in  my  studio,  al- 
though I  was  always  happy  to  tell  them  anything 
and  to  impart  to  them  any  instruction  in  my  power. 
He  said  he  was  very  anxious  to  learn  to  model ;  he 
could  not  afford  to  pay  much,  but  would  give  me 
all  he  could,  if  I  would  let  him  come.  This  I  told 
him  I  must  positively  decline  to  do,  as  I  was  about 
to  begin  an  important  work  which  would  occupy  all 
my  time  and  attention.  At  this  he  seemed  so  dis- 


224  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

appointed  and  begged  so  persistently,  that  I  finally 
told  him  I  would  think  of  it  and  let  him  know  the 
next  day.  He  had  previously  told  me  he  had 
drawn  a  little  ;  so  I  told  him  to  bring  his  drawings 
with  him  when  he  returned.  When  he  came  back 
the  next  day,  as  his  drawings  looked  promising, 
I  told  him  if  he  would  like  to  come  to  me  for  a 
year,  I  would  do  all  I  could  to  help  him  on,  and 
charge  him  nothing ;  but  if  he  would  keep  my  stu- 
dio tidy  (which  I  never  could)  and  attend  to  the 
fires,  I  would  furnish  his  fuel,  clay,  and  all  his 
necessary  studio-utensils  in  a  room  by  himself, 
which  I  had  partitioned  off  as  an  ingresso  to  the 
big  studio.  Of  course  he  was  delighted,  came,  and 
remained  with  me  the  next  four  years  on  these 
terms.  This  boy  was  Martin  Millmore,  the  future 
sculptor  of  the  Soldiers'  Monument  on  Boston 
Common. 

The  Washington  statue,  as  I  have  before  ob- 
served, was  modelled  in  plaster  instead  of  clay,  for 
the  reason  that  I  knew  it  would  be  impossible  to 
keep  the  temperature  of  the  studio  above  freezing- 
point  during  the  coldest  winter  nights.  I  had  a 
melancholy  proof  of  this  after  I  entered.  I  had 
modelled  a  bust  of  a  lady  nearly  to  completion, 
without  accident ;  but  there  came  a  cold  snap,  and 
although  I  wrapped  it  up  as  warmly  as  possible,  one 
morning  upon  uncovering  I  found  it  frozen  solid ; 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  225 

and  when  it  thawed,  all  the  prominent  features  — 
the  nose,  the  ears,  and  the  back  hair — dropped  off, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  do  it  all  over  again.  This 
would  have  been  a  serious  affair  with  my  colossal ; 
but,  fortunately,  plaster,  although  a  most  obstinate 
material  to  manage,  is  not  injured  by  freezing,  and 
will  stay  where  you  leave  it  and  as  you  leave  it, 
without  a  thought  about  its  drying  other  than  that 
it  may  do  so  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Now,  a  few  words  as  to  my  method  of  proceeding 
may  not  be  without  interest  to  the  general  reader, 
and  advantage  to  the  artist  who  may  have  to  model 
a  colossal  in  plaster  with  as  little  previous  experi- 
ence as  I  had  had.  He  may  get  some  hints  from 
my  inventions,  the  children  of  my  necessities. 

Screwed  firmly  to  my  platform  was  an  iron  post, 
about  ten  feet  high  and  four  or  five  inches  square ; 
a  horizontal  timber,  about  the  length  of  the  body  of 
the  horse,  rested  upon  the  top  of  the  iron  post, 
which  entered  and  passed  through  the  middle  of 
it,  the  two  forming  a  T,  —  the  timber  intended  to 
lie  along  just  under  the  lowest  part  of  the  back, 
and  together  with  the  iron  post,  support  the  entire 
weight.  I  then  formed  of  plaster  a  series  of  rough 
slabs,  ten  inches  wide,  three  inches  thick,  and  in 
the  form  of  a  half-circle  of  the  diameter  of  the 
body  of  the  horse.  As  soon  as  they  were  hard,  I 
simply  hung  them  up  —  a  dozen  on  each  side  —  to 

15 


226  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

the  timber,  their  lower  ends  coming  together  under 
the  belly,  supporting  each  other  till  I  could  join 
them  with  plaster.  Thus  I  had  a  hollow  cylinder, 
the  ends  of  which  I  closed  in  the  same  manner, 
forming  a  foundation  upon  which  to  build  the 
"  barrel "  of  my  horse.  I  next  drew  on  the  floor 
the  outlines  of  the  legs  in  their  right  proportions 
and  positions ;  bending  a  strong  iron  to  lay  in  the 
middle  of  each  leg,  I  raised  them  about  an  inch 
from  the  floor,  with  a  bit  of  plaster  under  each  end, 
then  filled  in  the  outlines  with  plaster,  covering 
the  irons  over  and  under ;  these  irons  should  be 
long  enough  to  project  six  or  eight  inches  under 
the  hoof  and  over  the  top,  to  enter  the  plinth  below 
and  the  barrel  above.  In  this  way  I  had  the  legs 
solidly  roughed  out,  with  an  iron  exactly  in  the 
middle  of  each,  and  ready  to  be  placed  under  the 
horse.  Of  course,  my  small  model  told  me  where 
to  place  the  hoofs.  After  this  the  building  up  of 
the  neck  and  head  of  the  horse  was  a  simple 
matter. 

Now  the  modelling  began  in  earnest ;  and  when 
I  tell  you  that  this  whole  colossal  group  and  at 
least  one  third  more  plaster  wasted,  passed  through 
a  two-quart  bowl,  you  can  imagine  how  that  bowl 
and  spoon  had  to  work,  and  how  many  miles  I 
must  have  walked  backward  and  forward  the 
length  of  my  studio. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  227 

My  barrel  of  plaster  —  I  forget  how  many  dozen 
I  used  in  the  course  of  the  work  —  I  kept  at  one 
extreme  end  of  the  room,  while  the  statue  was  fifty 
feet  away  at  the  other.  Every  bowl-full  was  mixed 
with  one  eye  on  the  distant  group.  I  had  half  a 
minute  after  each  mixing,  while  it  was  partially 
"  setting,"  to  study  my  work  at  this  distance,  and 
determine  where  this  bowl-full  was  to  go,  for  it 
must  be  put  on  rapidly  or  be  wasted.  As  the  work 
approached  completion,  this  operation  became  more 
complicated ;  after  finding  at  a  distance  the  exact 
spot  that  required  the  little  addition,  I  must  walk 
up  with  my  eye  fixed  upon  it,  and  with  a  bit  of 
charcoal  on  the  end  of  a  long  stick,  mark  the  spot 
that  could  not  be  discovered  at  close  quarters;  then 
plant  my  ladder,  and  mix  my  plaster  now  in  smaller 
quantities  than  at  first,  and  when  ready,  climb  up 
and  spread  it  on  quickly.  At  this  stage  of  the 
work,  the  large  mass  having  become  dry,  the  small 
quantities  added  each  day  would  dry  during  the 
night,  and  be  in  good  condition  to  work  on  with 
rasps  and  scrapers  the  next  day.  Oh,  how  I  did 
then  long  for  some  of  Friend  Powers's  perforated 
files! 

Having  given  you  a  pretty  good  insight  (if  I 
have  written  intelligibly)  into  the  manner  of  build- 
ing the  horse,  I  will  now  say  a  few  words  in  regard 
to  the  man. 


228  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

When  the  horse  was  well  advanced  toward  the 
finish,  the  saddle  in  its  place  and  ready  to  receive 
the  General,  I  took  a  quantity  of  hay,  and  having 
twisted  it  into  a  long  wisp,  threw  it  across  the 
saddle,  bringing  it  down  on  each  side  to  the  length 
and  into  the  position  his  legs  were  to  occupy,  form- 
ing a  core  upon  which  to  build  them,  as  it  was  ex- 
pedient to  make  all  parts  that  required  no  great 
strength  hollow,  to  avoid  unnecessary  weight. 
After  having  oiled  the  saddle,  that  the  new  plaster 
might  not  adhere  to  it,  I  spread  plaster  over  the 
hay,  roughed  out  the  legs,  and  went  on  to  build  up 
from  the  saddle,  hollow,  the  "  torso,"  covering  it  in 
at  the  shoulders,  and  making  the  arms  in  the  same 
manner  as  the  legs.  In  this  way  I  had  the  entire 
figure  of  the  man  blocked  out  hollow.  This  when 
dry  I  could  lift  with  my  derrick  off  the  horse,  and 
lower  to  the  floor  for  the  better  convenience  of 
modelling  the  head,  which  of  course  was  posed 
while  the  figure  was  on  the  horse. 

As  I  have  before  said,  this  barn  of  a  studio  was 
sixty  feet  long,  and,  on  the  whole,  very  conveniently 
arranged,  with  a  big  folding-door  at  the  end.  I 
could  walk  off  fifty  feet  from  my  group  in  the 
studio ;  and  by  opening  these  big  doors  retreat  as 
far  again  into  the  grounds,  so  that  I  had  ample 
distance  to  view  my  work  and  to  judge  properly  of 
the  effect.  I  had  some  difficulties  to  encounter, 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  229 

however ;  the  principal  one  heing  the  impossibility 
of  heating  such  a  shell  in  winter.  It  was  with 
the  greatest  effort  at  times  that  I  could  raise  the 
temperature  above  the  freezing-point. 

Another  annoyance  I  had  to  meet  when  the 
statue  was  nearly  completed,  but  which  was,  how- 
ever, happily  remedied.  At  this  time  (during  the 
civil  war)  rifles  were  of  course  in  great  demand 
for  our  Government  troops,  and  the  well-known 
Cheney  Brothers  had  built  on  these  grounds  a  tem- 
porary structure  for  proving  the  strength  of  the 
rifle-barrels  which  they  were  manufacturing.  They 
would  lay  out  a  battery  of  these  barrels,  two  or 
three  hundred  at  a  time,  all  loaded  to  the  muzzle, 
and  fire  them  all  off  at  once,  making  a  terrific 
explosion.  On  the  first  trial  of  this  battery  the 
concussion  was  so  severe  that  my  great  barn  was 
shaken  as  if  by  an  earthquake,  and  every  leg  of  my 
horse  resting  on  the  ground  was  cracked  through 
the  middle.  There  was  no  danger  of  its  falling, 
but  it  gave  me  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  repair  the 
damage.  A  few  days  after,  another  crash  came, 
with  the  same  effect  upon  the  legs  of  my  poor 
horse.  The  Cheneys  hearing  of  this  came  into  the 
studio,  to  witness  for  themselves  the  effect  of  the 
next  explosion.  They  were  perfectly  satisfied,  and 
like  the  perfect  gentlemen  they  were,  insisted  upon 
sending  men  capable  of  moving  the  statue  into  the 


230  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN. 

middle  of  the  room,  and  replacing  it  on  an  inde- 
pendent foundation ;  which  they  did  in  a  masterly 
manner,  isolating  it  from  the  floor  of  the  studio  by 
a  space  of  two  inches  all  round  it.  After  this,  the 
old  studio  could  quake  to  its  heart's  content ;  which 
I  rather  enjoyed,  as  long  as  the  statue  stood  firm 
and  independent. 

There  were  several  brothers  of  these  Cheneys, 
but  I  only  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  the  two 
artists,  John  and  Seth ;  the  former  one  of  the  best 
steel-engravers  in  the  country,  and  Seth  —  what 
angelic  female  portraits  he  used  to  make  with  a  bit 
of  charcoal  or  crayon !  I  well  remember  his  deep- 
set,  dreamy  eyes,  that  seemed  ever  studying  the 
angels  while  he  still  walked  the  earth.  I  remem- 
ber, too,  his  kind  criticism  of  my  first  work,  —  the 
Webster  head,  —  and  of  meeting  his  wife,  Mrs. 
Ednah  Cheney,  a  few  days  after,  and  her  telling  me 
that  Seth  feared  he  had  not  said  enough  in  praise 
of  my  work  when  he  visited  me. 

I  have  always  kept  a  particularly  soft  corner  in 
my  heart,  where  I  treasure  up  the  criticism  of  such 
men  as  Cheney,  Fuller,  Allston,  Crawford,  and 
Powers. 

How  these  dear  old  friends  have  stepped  in  and 
made  me  forget,  almost,  what  I  was  telling  you 
about ! 

Well,  so  I  worked  away  for  upward  of  three 


MY  THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN.  231 

years,  all  soul  alone,  —  for  I  could  not  endure  the 
presence  of  any  one  in  the  room  with  me,  not  even 
a  laborer  to  move  my  ladder  and  steps  back  and 
forth.  I  had  a  great  deal  of  this  to  do,  I  assure 
you,  as  I  at  no  time  permitted  myself  the  luxury 
of  a  staging ;  for  I  must  see  my  work  at  any  and 
every  moment  from  a  distance,  free  from  the  ob- 
struction of  any  intervening  object ;  consequently, 
I  was  continually  mounting  and  descending  and 
travelling  back  and  forth.  Here  I  found  one  great 
advantage  in  plaster  over  clay  for  such  a  work ;  and 
that  was,  that  I  could  plant  my  ladder  against  the 
side  of  my  horse  as  if  it  were  a  house,  without  fear 
of  damage. 

I  soon  became  quite  expert  at  changing  my  step- 
ladders  ;  one  ten  feet  high,  which  at  first  I  could 
scarcely  move,  in  a  very  little  while  I  was  able,  by 
stepping  behind  and  taking  it  upon  my  back,  to 
convey  to  any  part  of  the  studio  with  the  greatest 
ease.  So  that  at  the  end,  by  the  aid  of  these 
gymnastic  exercises,  I  came  out  much  stronger  in 
the  arms  and  back,  but  weaker  in  the  knees ;  in 
fact,  for  more  than  a  year  afterward  I  could  feel, 
and  fancy  I  could  hear,  them  creak  every  time  I 
went  upstairs.  It  may  seem  strange  that  I  did 
not  employ  some  manual  assistance  all  this  time ; 
but  as  I  said  before,  I  could  not  endure  the  pres- 
ence of  any  one,  not  even  my  pupil,  when  I  was  at 


232  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

work.  And  then,  again,  I  felt  a  (perhaps  foolish) 
jealousy  that  any  other  hand  but  my  own  should 
touch  or  have  anything  to  do  with  this  work. 

When  the  model  was  entirely  finished  and  to  be 
seen  in  my  studio,  it  created  a  decided  sensation. 
You  must  remember  that  the  stay-at-home  Bos- 
tonians  had  never  seen  an  equestrian  statue,  and 
those  who  had  travelled  never  one  in  the  studio 
where  it  was  modelled,  and  where  it  appeared  twice 
as  large  as  it  ever  would  again.  The  children  of 
all  the  public  schools  visited  the  studio  in  proces- 
sion, each  school  in  its  turn.  I  wonder  how  many 
of  them  remember  it,  or  what  their  sensations 
were  at  the  time,  now  that  they  are  men  and 
women ;  or  whether  they  ever  think  of  their  visit, 
or  notice  the  statue  as  they  pass  to  and  from  their 
daily  avocations.  It  delights  me  now  occasionally 
to  hear  a  visitor  to  my  studio  in  Florence  say  that 
he  or  she  was  among  those  school-children. 

There!  I  have  said  quite  enough  about  this 
statue.  I  trust  you  have  been  able  to  follow  me 
with  interest ;  but  nothing  I  have  said  or  can  say 
will  affect  its  merits  one  way  or  the  other.  There  it 
stands,  with  all  its  faults,  to  speak  for  itself.  The 
principal  life-model  I  had  for  my  horse  was  "  Black 
Prince,"  belonging  to  T.  Bigelow  Lawrence,  Esq., 
who  most  kindly  sent  him  to  me  by  his  groom  as 
often  as  I  wanted  him. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  233 

But  I  neglected  no  opportunity  outside  of  my 
studio  to  study  the  action  of  the  horse,  leading 
sometimes  to  awkward  mistakes  in  regard  to  my 
mental  condition. 

On  my  way  to  the  studio  every  morning  I  passed 
a  club  stable  on  Tremont  Street,  and  made  a  prac- 
tice of  going  in  for  a  few  moments  to  study  the 
horse  that  Pat  happened  to  be  rubbing  down  at 
the  time,  and  so  refresh  my  memory  for  the  work 
of  the  day. 

As  the  big  door  stood  open  to  the  street,  I  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  say  anything,  but  silently 
walked  about  the  horse,  occasionally  feeling  of  the 
muscles,  when  my  eyes  were  in  doubt,  not  thinking 
how  absurd  it  must  look  to  Patrick,  or  supposing 
that  he  took  any  notice  of  me.  But  one  day  I  met 
the  proprietor  of  the  stable,  who  said  he  had  a 
capital  joke  for  me,  and  related  it  as  follows : 
"  The  other  morning,  when  you  were  going  out 
as  I  came  in,  Pat  asked  me  if  I  knew  '  that  gintle- 
man.'  i  Oh,  yes,'  I  said.  '  Ah,'  said  he,  *  he  is  n't 
right  in  his  head,  poor  fellow ! '  i  Why  do  you 
think  so  ? '  '  Well,  he  comes  in  here  ivery  morn- 
ing, and  no  matter  what  boss  I  have  out,  he  walks 
round  and  round  him,  and  looks  at  him  all  over, 
and  watches  his  huffs  ivery  step  he  takes,  and  he 
fales  of  him  all  over,  and  niver  a  word  does  he  say. 
Yesterday,  when  I  had  Ould  Whitey  out,  I  thought 


234  MY  THKEESCOKE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

he  niver  would  be  done  gazing  at  him.  Then  I 
made  bowld  to  tell  him  that  we  had  better-looking 
bosses  than  that  in  the  stable.  "  Yes,  I  know,"  he 
said ;  "  but  they  are  not  white,  and  I  can't  see  the 
muscles  so  well."  And  I  made  up  me  mind  that 
a  man  that  could  n't  see  a  boss  that  was  n't  white, 
without  faling  of  him,  must  either  be  blind  or 
cracked  ;  and  he  is  n't  blind.1 " 

Speaking  of  horses  reminds  me  that  when 
I  was  passing  through  Via  Cerretani,  a  mag- 
nificent-looking span  of  horses  attached  to  a  pri- 
vate carriage  came  prancing  along,  tossing  their 
heads  and  tails  about  in  the  most  conceited  man- 
ner. But  pride,  that  goes  before  a  fall,  failed  to 
give  them  warning,  and  the  smooth  pavement 
caused  the  feet  of  one  of  them  to  slip  from  under 
him,  and  down  he  went,  tripping  his  companion, 
who  followed  him  to  the  ground  ;  and  as  they  both 
fell  out,  their  legs  became  very  much  mixed.  In 
an  instant  the  driver  and  footman  were  off  their 
box  and  at  the  horses'  heads,  and  in  another  a 
crowd  had  collected.  As  if  by  magic,  a  man  ap- 
peared with  a  bundle  of  straw,  which  he  threw 
down  among  the  feet  of  the  horses,  to  prevent  their 
injuring  each  other;  then  the  harness  was  un- 
buckled and  the  carriage  moved  back,  when  two 
strong  men  took  hold  of  the  head  of  the  horse  that 
first  fell,  and  another  stalwart  fellow  seized  hold  of 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  235 

the  tail,  in  order  to  draw  him  out  bodily  from  his 
mate.  When  all  was  ready,  the  word  was  given, 
"  Or  a  !  insieme !  "  and  with  one  terrible  wrench  — 
oh,  horror  of  horrors !  —  the  beautiful  tail  came  out 
in  the  man's  hand  as  if  by  the  roots.  A  shudder- 
ing thrill  ran  through  the  open-mouthed  crowd ; 
but  the  next  moment  a  howl  went  up  that  wakened 
every  echo  in  the  neighborhood,  and  started  up  a 
flock  of  pigeons  from  the  roof  of  the  palace  oppo- 
site ;  for  lo !  the  stump  was  there  intact  and  firm, 
but  bare  as  a  rat's  tail !  That  beautiful  switch 
had  been  skilfully  attached  to  the  crupper  of  the 
harness ;  proving  that  all  flowing  tails  are  not  to 
be  depended  upon,  any  more  than  all  fashionable 
ladies'  chignons. 

I  had  intended  to  depart  again  for  Italy  as  soon  as 
my  equestrian  was  done ;  but  I  found  that  at  the 
time  the  premium  on  gold  was  so  high — every 
dollar  costing  two  and  a  half  or  more  —  I  should 
be  obliged  to  postpone  my  departure  till  the  next 
3^ear.  In  the  mean  time,  as  there  was  no  money  in 
the  treasury  of  the  committee,  Mr.  Mossman  came 
on  from  the  Ames  Foundry  in  Chicopee,  —  where 
the  statue  was  to  be  cast,  —  and  cut  the  model  in 
pieces,  fitting  them  with  the  greatest  precision  as 
he  proceeded,  ready  to  be  moulded  without  loss 
of  time,  and  also  for  convenience  of  packing  and 
transferring  to  the  foundry.  When  this  was  done 


236  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

and  the  parts  packed  in  a  dozen  or  more  cases, 
they,  together  with  a  load  of  my  old  canvases, 
frames,  easels,  and  other  painting  utensils  and  fur- 
niture of  my  old  profession,  were  all  carted  over  to 
Beacon  Street  to  the  private  stable  of  Mr.  Turner 
Sargent,  who  generously  tendered  the  use  of  two 
large  rooms  to  the  committee  for  that  purpose. 

I  was  now  making  my  arrangements  to  leave  as 
soon  as  exchange  should  be  low  enough  to  warrant 
me  in  so  doing,  when  I  was  applied  to,  to  furnish 
models  for  three  figures  for  the  front  of  the  new 
Horticultural  Building,  then  in  process  of  construc- 
tion. These  I  declined,  as  they  were  required  im- 
mediately, and  I  did  not  wish  to  delay  further  my 
departure.  My  pupil  Millmore,  knowing  this  to  be 
the  case,  asked  me  if  I  would  object  to  his  trying  to 
get  them.  I  told  him  certainly  not,  and  that  I 
would  recommend  him,  —  which  I  did ;  and  before 
I  left,  he  had  the  contract  drawn  up  and  signed  in 
my  studio.  This  was  his  first  commission,  and  it 
proved  a  most  fortunate  launch  in  his  profession. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

I  SHALL  now  give  you  one  more  musical  chapter, 
and  be  done  with  that  branch  of  my  subject. 

By  way  of  introduction,  I  must  tell  you  of  a  most 
pleasant  surprise  that  awaited  me.  Up  to  this 
time  I  had  retained  my  situation  as  basso  in  the 
quartette  choir  of  King's  Chapel,  which  I  had  held 
about  seven  years  previous  to  going  abroad  the  first 
time.  The  place  having  been  kept  open  for  me 
during  my  two  years'  absence,  I  resumed  it  on  my 
return,  and  had  held  it  up  to  the  time  of  which  I 
am  writing,  making  in  all  about  fifteen  years.  But 
now  that  I  was  about  to  go  abroad  for  an  indefinite 
period,  I  sent  in  my  final  resignation.  I  had  re- 
ceived all  these  years  a  liberal  salary,  but  upon  my 
resigning  I  was  informed  by  a  letter  from  the  Yes- 
try  of  the  church  that  a  purse  of  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  had  been  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Treas- 
urer by  members  of  the  congregation,  which  they 
begged  me  to  accept  as  a  testimonial  of  their  es- 
teem and  their  appreciation  of  my  past  services. 
This  was  a  most  pleasant  and  touching  compliment 
at  parting,  which  I  acknowledged  by  letter,  express- 


238  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

ing  as  well  as  I  knew  how  my  gratitude  for  their 
kindness  to  me. 

Music,  I  repeat,  has  been  my  warm  and  true 
friend  all  through  my  life.  In  my  early  struggles 
she  fed  me,  and  now  that  I  no  longer  needed  her 
pecuniary  aid,  dismissed  me  with  this  liberal  part- 
ing present ;  still  promising  her  heavenly  influence 
for  my  future  happiness,  —  a  promise  which  she 
has  faithfully  kept.  The  only  return  I  could  make 
has  been  to  devote  my  voice  ever  since  —  now, 
twenty-five  years — to  the  service  of  our  little  church 
in  Florence,  and  an  occasional  concert  for  charity. 
I,  of  course,  assist  at  the  home  musicales  given 
for  the  entertainment  of  friends  by  my  wife  and 
daughter,  —  the  former  an  accomplished  musician 
and  sight-reader,  and  the  latter  an  exquisite  pianist. 
I  fain  would  join  them  with  my  violin,  but  my  ner- 
vous sensibility  has  always  deterred  me.  My 
daughter  thinks  that  if  I  only  had  a  third  hand 
to  finger  my  watch-chain,  —  as  I  have  a  habit  of 
doing  when  I  sing,  —  my  nerves  would  be  all  right. 
In  fact,  the  least  said  about  my  instrumental  per- 
formances the  better;  my  execution  has  not  kept 
pace  with  my  judgment.  When  a  boy,  in  my  ig- 
norance, I  had  none  of  that  nervous  fear ;  but  on 
arriving  at  man's  estate  I  learned  to  know  that  I 
knew  nothing,  and  that  it  would  take  too  much 
time  from  my  profession  to  arrive  at  any  great 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  239 

proficiency.  I  therefore  gave  up  my  violin  for 
conscience*  sake ;  and  to  put  temptation  from  me, 
sold  it,  or  rather,  exchanged  it  for  vocal  music. 
My  guitar  —  not  thinking  it  worth  having  any 
conscience  about,  nor  fearing  its  temptation  after 
my  days  of  romance  had  come  to  an  end,  if  they 
can  ever  be  said  to  have  ended  —  I  retained  and 
still  possess,  but  have  relegated  its  use  to  my  son- 
in-law.  But  the  violin  was  another  thing,  and  as 
I  felt,  not  to  be  trifled  with.  At  the  age  of  sixty 
I  crossed  the  ocean  in  the  steam-ship  "Parthia," 
with  Captain  McKay,  who  one  day  exhibited  to 
my  greedy  eyes  an  old  violin  which  he  kept  in 
his  room  to  while  away  a  calm  hour  now  and 
then.  As  he  wished  me  to  try  it,  I  imprudently 
asked  to  be  shut  in  his  office  with  it  for  a  half-hour 
while  he  was  on  duty  above.  That  half-hour  undid 
the  work  of  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century. 
I  dreamt  over  it,  recalling  old  melodies  and  old 
memories,  till,  as  the  reformed  drunkard,  finding 
himself  alone  with  a  bottle  of  brandy,  beginning 
by  smelling,  then  tasting,  falls  from  grace,  so  I 
fell. 

Immediately  on  my  arrival  home,  I  hired  a  violin 
until  I  succeeded  in  finding  a  fine  old  "  Cremona  " 
upon  which  to  indulge  my  craving.  But  I  limited 
myself  strictly  to  the  hour  before  breakfast,  when 
all  others  were  sleeping;  and  I  have  never  exceeded 


240  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

the  limit,  or  omitted  to  improve  the  allotted  hour 
or  half-hour;  but  retiring  to  the  remotest  corner 
of  the  house,  not  to  disturb  the  slumbers  of  the 
other  inmates,  I  pass  some  of  the  sweetest  mo- 
ments of  the  day  in  practice ;  but  with  how  much 
more  conscience  than  ever  before !  I  feel  a  sort 
of  veneration  for  the  dear  old  instrument,  as  if 
every  previous  owner  in  all  the  one  hundred  and 
seventy  years  of  its  existence  were  watching  me, 
that  I  do  not  abuse  or  trifle  with  it.  I  cannot 
better  express  my  feelings  in  regard  to  an  old 
violin  than  by  indulging  in  a  short  scene  from  a 
comedietta  I  wrote  a  year  or  two  ago  strictly  for 
home  entertainment. 

SCENE   II.  —  Painter's  Studio. 

LEONARD  WALKER,  alias  LEONARDO  CAMMiNATORE,1  an  old 
English  painter,  who  has  been  obliged  to  fly  from  London 
to  Florence,  and  change  his  name,  to  save  his  pictures  from 
being  seized  for  debt  as  fast  as  he  paints  them. 

JACK  WALKER,  his  son,  pursuing  the  study  of  music. 

CAMMINATORE  discovered  at  his  easel,  painting. 

CAM.  Friend  Shakspeare  says,  "  That  which  we 
call  a  rose,  by  any  other  name  would  smell  as  sweet." 
Perhaps  so ;  nevertheless,  I  think  it  fortunate  that  it 
was  not  called  garlic.  This  Italian  is  a  wonderful^ 
glorifying  language.  The  name  Michelangelo,  for  in- 
stance, —  a  name  that  inspires  the  world  with  awe,  — 

1  A  literal  translation  into  Italian  of  "  Leonard  Walker." 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  241 

if  put  into  plain  English  might  turn  out  as  common  a 
name  as  John  Smith.  I  don't  know ;  but  Jack  tells 
me  that  Beatrice  Cenci,  of  the  heavenly  countenance, 
had  she  been  born  in  England,  would  have  been  simply 
Miss  Rags.  Think  of  her  saintly  father  being  called 
' k  Old  Rags  ! "  Now,  Leonardo  Camminatore  !  it 's 
almost  as  grand-sounding  as  Michelangelo!  Never- 
theless, I  shall  welcome  the  time  when  I  can  resume 
again  the  simple,  but  honest  Leonard  Walker.  Chang- 
ing the  name  involved  a  change  in  my  style  of  handling, 
which  I  suppose  in  a  hundred  years  from  now  will  be 
called  "  Walker's  Italian  manner."  Well,  the  first  ex- 
periment was  successful,  snapped  up  the  first  day  it 
appeared  at  the  Academy  exhibition  ;  and  now  I  wish 
the  money  would  come.  But  I'm  determined  not  to 
watch  the  post  to-day,  for  I  know  I  should  be  dis- 
appointed. It  will  probably  come  when  I  least  ex- 
pect it. 

Enter  JACK  with  a  letter. 

JACK.  The  post  is  in,  father,  and  has  brought  a  letter 
for  you. 

CAM.  (taking  letter).  Dublin  postmark.  There!  I 
knew  that  letter  would  come  to-day,  because  I  felt  so 
sure  it  would  not. 

JACK.    Dad,  were  any  of  our  ancestors  Irish? 

CAM.  Your  great-grandmother  on  your  mother's  side, 
I  believe,  was  from  Ireland.  Why  do  }rou  ask? 

JACK.  Because  of  the  remark  you  just  made  about 
the  letter. 

CAM.  What  I  mean  is,  the  thing  we  have  watched 
and  waited  for  so  often  comes  just  when  we  have 
ceased  to  expect  it. 

16 


242  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

JACK.  On  the  principle  that  "a  watched  pot  never 
boils." 

CAM.  Ah,  but  that 's  a  mistake !  A  watched  pot 
never  boils,  because  it  is  n't  watched  long  enough. 

JACK.  But  if  the  watched  pot  never  boils,  where  is 
the  use  of  continuing  the  watch? 

CAM.  There !  there !  don't  begin  one  of  your  ever- 
lasting arguments ;  you  will  make  my  head  ache.  .  .  . 
By  the  way,  where  is  that  boy  you  engaged  for  me  ? 

JACK.  He  's  on  hand.    (  Calling  out)  Oh,  Bambino ! 

Enter  DIOGENES. 

DIOG.   Eccomi,  Signore. 

CAM.  Well,  he  looks  a  pretty  bright  boy.  Just  show 
him  at  once  how  to  clean  my  palette ! 

JACK.   Oh,  he 's  up  to  that ;  I  've  taught  him. 

[Exit  DIOGENES  with  palette. 

CAM.   What 's  his  name  ? 

JACK.  Diogenes  is  the  only  name  I  've  heard  him 
called  by.  I  think  we'll  call  him  "  Oggi,"  for  short; 
and  it  will  help  us  at  the  same  time  to  remember  when 
we  engaged  him,  as  Robinson  Crusoe  called  his  man 
"Friday." 

CAM.   I  don't  exactly  see  the  connection. 

JACK.  You  dear  old  dad !  don't  you  know  that 
"  Oggi"  means  "to-day,"  in  Italian?  We  engaged  him 
to-day,  you  know. 

CAM.  There,  that  will  do ;  now,  while  he  is  gone, 
suppose  we  have  a  little  music.  I  shall  work  better  all 
day  for  it. 

JACK.   If  you  like. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  243 

CAMMINATORE  takes  out  his  violin,  and  JACK  sits  down 
at  the  piano. 

CAM.   Suppose  we  try  — 
JACK.   Anything  you  please. 

They  play  a  short  piece. 

CAM.  (fondling  his  violin).  Dear  old  Strad!  he's 
offended  at  having  been  kept  mute  so  long ;  he  grieves 
if  his  voice  cannot  be  heard  continually. 

JACK.  How  I  wish  my  piano  would  improve  by  con- 
stant use,  like  a  violin  ! 

CAM.  So  it  would  if  it  had  a  soul  and  conscience  like 
a  violin.  After  long  enforced  silence,  this  sensitive 
thing  cannot  readily  find  its  soul.  But  it 's  there  all 
the  same,  hidden  away  in  some  curve,  patiently  waiting 
to  be  coaxed  back.  Listen  to  those  insinuating,  soft 
harmonics  whispering  out  beneath  the  bow,  each  an- 
swering to  its  kindred  tone  on  neighboring  string  from 
very  sympathy ;  not  the  ordinary  falsetto  notes,  mis- 
called harmonics,  oft  paraded  forth  to  astonish  the 
ignorant,  but  those  sweet,  subtle,  sympathetic  breath- 
ings that  surround  each  well  drawn  note,  like  spirits 
bearing  it  joyfully  or  tearfully  into  space.  These  are 
the  soul  of  the  instrument.  When  they  are  absent 
from  the  shell,  or  e'en  refuse  to  be  evoked  by  unskilled 
fingers,  then  't  is  but  a  fiddle ;  or  if  the  tone  be  false 
the  fraction  of  a  shade,  those  conscientious  satellites 
avoid  it  as  a  crying  sin,  —  which'  surely  'tis,  —  leaving 
it  dry  and  bare  as  any  plant  stripped  of  its  foliage.  I 
sometimes  fancy  I  can  see  those  little,  sensitive,  har- 
monic fairies  flying  some  false  tone  of  mine,  with  fingers 


244  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

in  their  shocked  ears,  as  angels  scatter  at  the  sound  of 
profanity. 

JACK.    Bravo,  babbo ! 

CAM.  Look  here,  Jack  !  I  protest  against  your  calling 
me  babbo. 

JACK.   But  it 's  Italian,  you  know,  for  dad. 

CAM.  I  don't  care  if —  (Seeing  OGGI,  who  has  just 
entered  with  the  palette  cleaned,  but  with  his  face  fear- 
fully smeared  with  blue.)  What  the  deuce  has  the  boy 
been  doing? 

JACK.  Ha  !  ha !  Well,  I  must  say  that 's  the  severest 
case  of  ' '  blues  "  I  've  seen  lately. 

CAM.  (taking  OGGI  by  the  shoulder) .  It 's  surprising 
what  a  propensity  Prussian  blue  has  to  spread  itself. 
You  've  only  to  touch  the  tip  of  your  finger  to  it,  and, 
presto !  it 's  all  over  you  like  a  blue  blush  or  a  flash  of 
heat-lightning ;  and  why  so  lively  a  color  should  be  the 
synonym  of  melancholy,  is  a  mystery  to  me.  Why  not 
the  reds  or  the  yellows?  Friend  Shakspeare  saw  the 
absurdity  of  it  when  he  wrote  the  words,  "  She  never 
told  her  love,  but  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the 
bud,  feed  on  her  damask  cheek ;  she  pined  in  thought, 
and  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy  \_green  and 
yellow,  mind  you!],  she  sat  like  patience,"  etc.,  etc. 
Look  here,  boy !  I  advise  you  to  take  a  turpentine 
bath. 

OGGI.    Si,  signore. 

CAM.  Stop !  Philosophers  tell  us  that  light  is  com- 
posed of  the  three  primary  colors,  and  that  a  judi- 
cious mixture  of  blue,  red,  and  3rellow  will  produce 
a  perfect  neutral,  or  no  color.  Now,  perhaps  the 
easiest  way  to  clean  him  would  be  to  give  him  a  good 


MY  THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN.  245 

coat  of  red  and  yellow.    There,  show  him  the  soap  and 
water,"  etc ! 

Enough  of  this  nonsense,  which  I  would  seriously 
advise  you  to  skip  if  it  were  not  too  late ;  but, 
"  better  late  than  never." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

To  return  to  my  story,  which  I  have  allowed  my- 
self to  outstrip  by  twenty-five  years. 

I  packed  up  my  models,  to  be  put  into  marble  in 
Italy,  including  the  bust  and  statuette  of  Forrest, 
and  took  steamer  again  for  Italy  with  my  wife  and 
my  daughter,  who  was  born  shortly  after  our  first 
return,  and  was  now  seven  years  old. 

About  this  time,  the  spring  of  1865,  the  last 
scenes  of  the  great  civil-war  drama  were  being 
enacted.  On  arriving  in  London,  we  took  lodg- 
ings at  a  pension,  which  had  been  recommended 
to  us,  near  the  British  Museum.  The  landlady,  a 
pleasant-appearing  person,  upon  hearing  that  we 
were  Americans,  asked  if  we  were  from  "North 
America."  We  said  we  were.  She  then  told  us 
she  had  some  very  pleasant  rooms,  but  that  it  was 
no  more  than  her  duty  to  inform  us,  before  we  en- 
gaged them,  that  there  was  then  stopping  with  her 
a  "  South  American  gentleman ; "  and  she  seemed 
much  surprised  and  somewhat  relieved  to  hear  me 
say  that  I  would  like  to  meet  him.  She  evidently 
expected  that  upon  the  information  she  imparted, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  247 

I  would  either  leave  the  house  immediately,  or  that 
there  would  be  bloodshed  the  moment  I  met  the 
Southern  gentleman.  We  found  the  house  a  pleas- 
ant one,  with  about  half-a-dozen  other  gentlemen, 
all  English  with  the  exception  of  the  young  South- 
erner, who  had  a  handsome  but  naturally  sad  face. 
The  English  men  as  well  as  ladies  —  of  whom 
there  were  several  at  the  table  —  watched  us  as  we 
sat  down  to  dinner  the  first  time,  he  nearly  oppo- 
site me.  But  he  was  as  silent  as  I  at  that  first 
meal ;  the  next  morning  after  breakfast,  upon  my 
asking  the  way  to  some  point  in  the  city,  much  to 
the  surprise  of  the  rest,  he  was  the  first  to  inform 
me,  pointing  out  to  me  the  spot  on  the  map.  After 
that  we  became  very  good  friends  ;  but  no  word  of 
the  great  conflict  ever  passed  our  lips.  The  Eng- 
lish discussed  the  American  news  with  the  great- 
est confidence,  but  neither  of  us  joined  in.  I  found 
that  they  were  inclined  to  believe  all  reports  favor- 
able to  the  South.  The  young  Confederate  was  not 
as  sanguine. 

The  morning  I  left,  the  news  came  that  we  had 
taken  Richmond  ;  the  English  would  not  believe  it, 
and  appealed  to  the  young  man  for  his  opinion. 
He  answered  with  a  touchingly  sad  expression,  "  I 
fear  that  it  is  true."  "We  shook  hands  at  parting, 
with  the  mutual  hope  expressed  that  we  might 
meet  again. 


248  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

I  was  empowered,  while  in  London,  by  the  Han- 
del and  Haydn  Society  of  Boston,  of  which  I  was 
and  still  am  a  member,  to  call  on  the  great 
English  tenor  Sims  Reeves,  and  endeavor  to  en- 
gage his  services  for  the  six  concerts  at  their 
coming  biennial  jubilee. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  for  the  first 
time,  and  of  hearing  him  the  only  time  in  my  life, 
in  a  miscellaneous  concert  at  the  Crystal  Palace, 
in  which  he  sang,  to  my  great  delight,  that  lovely 
aria,  "  If  with  all  your  hearts  ye  truly  seek  me,'' 
from  «  Elijah." 

At  the  close  of  -the  concert  my  wife  and  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  mingling  our  voices,  with  five 
hundred' others,  in  the  "Hallelujah  Chorus"  of  the 
immortal  Handel. 

The  next  day  I  called  on  Mr.  Reeves  at  his  house, 
and  was  received  very  cordially  by  himself  and  wife. 
He  was  very  favorably  impressed  by  the  liberal 
offer  of  our  Society,  but  the  voyage  seemed  too  for- 
midable to  him ;  and  his  wife,  fearing  perhaps  he 
might  be  tempted,  assured  me  that  as  much  as 
they  appreciated  the  honor  of  the  offer,  no  amount 
of  money  would  tempt  her  to  give  her  consent  to  her 
husband's  crossing  that  dreadful  ocean.  Upon  this 
I  gave  it  up,  for  she  seemed  to  be  a  lady  of  deter- 
mination. After  a  very  pleasant  fifteen  minutes' 
chat  about  music  and  the  fine  arts,  of  which  they 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  249 

seemed  very  appreciative,  I  took  my  leave,  regret- 
ting that  the  voice  of  the  great  tenor  could  never 
be  heard  in  America.  During  our  conversation 
Mr.  Reeves  spoke  of  a  statue  of  Cleopatra,  by  an 
American  sculptor,  Mr.  W.  W.  Story,  which  he  had 
seen  in  the  Exhibition,  and  which  he  thought  a 
very  superior  work. 

After  a  day  or  two  in  Paris,  we  went  to  Munich 
for  a  short  visit. 

On  leaving  the  hotel  to  pursue  our  journey,  the 
landlord  came  to  our  carriage  to  tell  us  of  the  ter- 
rible news,  just  received  from  America,  that  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  and  his  Secretary  of  State,  Seward, 
had  both  been  assassinated.  I  could  not  free  my 
mind  from  the  horror  of  it  during  the  rest  of  my 
journey,  although  a  part  of  it,  but  for  that,  would 
have  been  the  most  delightful  I  ever  made.  In  the 
railroad  carriage  from  Munich  we  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  most  charming  old  gentleman,  who 
proved  to  be  the  celebrated  Munich  painter,  Herr 
Yogel  of  Yogelstein,  then  over  eighty,  who  was  on 
his  way  to  attend  the  great  "  Dante  Festival  at 
Florence."  He  had  painted  several  large  pictures 
illustrating  the  life  and  works  of  the  great  poet; 
they  now  hang  in  the  modern  gallery  of  the  Belle 
Arti  in  Florence.  His  own  portrait  is  in  the  auto- 
graph-portrait room  of  the  Uffizi. 

Arriving  at  Innsbruck,  he  proposed  to  join  us  in 


250  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

a  carriage-ride  over  the  magnificent  Brenner  Pass 
to  Botzen ;  which  was  most  agreeable  to  us.  The 
railroad  through  this  pass  —  that  stupendous  piece 
of  engineering  —  was  then  in  active  progress ; 
and  the  thousands  of  travellers  who  go  over  this 
road  every  season,  have  no  conception  of  the  won- 
drous difference  between  their  view,  notwithstand- 
ing those  big  plate-glass  windows  of  the  Swiss  cars, 
and  that  from  the  carriage  road,  of  this  great  work. 
Here  for  a  moment  you  find  yourself  perhaps  on  a 
level  and  running  parallel  with  the  train ;  when 
suddenly  it  disappears  into  a  rat-hole  in  the  side  of 
the  mountain.  A  few  minutes  after  —  as  you  have 
been  ascending  all  the  time  —  you  see  it  emerge 
from  a  similar  hole,  only  smaller,  and  apparently 
half  a  mile  below  you;  turning  a  curve  in  your 
road  as  you  descend,  you  lose  sight  of  it,  and 
when  it  next  comes  in  view,  you  shudder  to  see  it 
creeping  like  a  worm  along  the  perpendicular 
surface  of  a  precipice  half  a  mile  above  you,  go- 
ing in  an  entirely  wrong  direction,  and  apparently 
sustained  in  its  position  by  capillary  attraction. 
You  breathe  again  when  you  lose  sight  of  it  for 
a  moment,  to  have,  at  the  next,  your  breath  com- 
pletely taken  away  from  you  by  seeing  it  sus- 
pended in  the  air,  or  borne  up  by  a  bridge  that 
seems  to  have  been  literally  thrown  across  a  fright- 
ful chasm.  But  again  you  lose  sight  of  the  iron 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  251 

road  for  a  longer  time  than  usual,  leaving  it  sus- 
pended in  the  air,  and  find  yourselves  in  a  valley 
with  fields  on  each  side  that  seem  for  miles  to 
grow  nothing  but  that  dear  little  flower  we  call 
"  Forget-me-not." 

Proudly  the  mountain  towers; 
The  ruined  castle  lowers  ; 
Seeming  to  claim  "  'T  is  ours 

To  mark  the  spot." 
The  modest  fields  so  blue, 
Reflecting  heaven's  bright  hue, 
Murmur,  "'Tis  true;  but  do 

Forget-me-not  1 " 

I  am  suddenly  awakened  out  of  my  musings  by 
this  startling  request  from  my  sentimental  little 
seven-year-old  daughter :  "  Papa,  when  I  am  dead 
will  you  have  my  grave  covered  all  over  with  these 
precious  little  forget-me-nots  ? "  After  that  I  was 
not  sorry  to  leave  them  behind  me,  and  mount  into 
a  lighter  atmosphere. 

On  our  arrival  in  Florence  we  found  that  King 
Victor  Emmanuel  had  recently  established  his 
court  in  that  city,  bringing  such  an  influx  of  fol- 
lowers that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  find  an  un- 
occupied apartment  or  studio.  I  succeeded  at 
length  in  engaging  a  temporary  studio,  and  finding 
a  very  comfortable  apartment  on  the  third  floor  of 
Casa  Guidi,  where  the  Brownings  lived  so  many 


252  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN. 

years,  and  where  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 
died ;  which  facts  are  duly  recorded  on  a  marble 
tablet  set  into  the  front  wall  of  the  house.  Here 
we  met  the  two  great  poets  on  our  first  visit  to 
Florence,  bringing  letters  from  James  T.  Fields. 
And  now  it  seemed  as  if  we  ought  to  meet  their 
genial  faces,  as  we  passed  up  and  down;  but  in- 
stead we  were  frequently  accosted  by  worshipping 
pilgrims  to  this  shrine  of  poetry,  demanding  to 
know  in  which,  apartment  Mrs.  Browning  died.  I 
remember  one  day,  upon  going  up,  seeing  a  young 
lady  sitting  upon  the  lower  step  of  the  third  flight, 
weeping.  As  I  passed,  she  moved  aside  in  some 
confusion,  and  asked,  pointing  to  the  door  op- 
posite, if  that  were  Mrs.  Browning's  apartment.  I 
told  her  she  had  passed  it  coming  up,  —  that  it 
was  on  the  floor  below.  Poor  thing  !  she  had  been 
weeping  at  the  wrong  door ;  but  no  doubt  her  tears 
were  just  as  acceptable  to  the  spirit  of  the  great 
poetess. 

While  waiting  to  find  a  studio,  I  could  not  be 
idle,  but  in  one  of  the  spare  rooms  of  my  apartment 
I  began  a  study,  half-life  size,  of  the  "  Emancipa- 
tion Group,"  which  had  been  impatiently  bubbling 
in  my  brain  ever  since  receiving  those  horrible 
tidings  in  Munich.  When  I  came  to  the  modelling 
of  the  nude  slave,  I  had  some  difficulty  in  finding 
a  good  life  model.  I  had  one,  two  or  three  times ; 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  253 

but  he  was  not  good  enough  to  compensate  for  the 
unpleasantness  of  being  obliged  to  conduct  him 
through  our  apartment.  So,  as  it  was  warm 
weather,  I  decided  to  constitute  myself  both  model 
and  modeller.  By  lowering  the  clay  so  that  I  could 
work  upon  it  while  in  a  kneeling  position  (that  of 
the  slave),  and  placing  a  looking-glass  on  each  side 
of  me,  I  brought  everything  quite  conveniently 
before  me.  As  I  did  not  require  an  Apollo  for  a 
model,  but  one  who  could  appreciate  exactly  the 
position  I  required,  and  could  not  only  see,  but  feel 
the  action  of  each  muscle,  I  could  not  have  had  a 
better  one,  —  certainly,  for  the  money.  At  any  rate, 
I  succeeded  in  making  one  of  the  best  of  my  nude 
figures,  though  under  difficulties.  But  that  was 
not  the  first  or  the  last  time  that  I  conquered 
difficulties  in  a  similar  way.1  The  first  copy  of 
this  little  group  was  ordered  for  bronze  before  it 

was  finished  in  the  clay,  by  Mr. ,  of  Boston. 

When  this  group  was  finished,  we  devoted  the 
empty  room  to  our  little  daughter  for  a  playroom, 

1  I  was  forcibly  struck  by  an  expression  used  by  Mr.  William 
D.  Howells's  little  daughter,  in  that  remarkable  book  of  designs 
by  "  A  little  girl  among  the  Old  Masters."  "  At  other  times," 
he  writes,  "she  says  she  took  the  pose  herself;  and  then  (as  she 
explains)  she  saw  how  the  position  felt." 

I  have  no  doubt  that  most  artists  have  done  the  same  thing; 
but  here  was  a  little  ten-year-old  girl  to  be  the  first  to  tell  of  it, 
and  in  words  so  expressive.  Verily,  "  from  the  mouths  of  very 
babes  "  may  we  learn  wisdom,  if  we  keep  our  ears  open. 


254  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

where  she  could  shut  herself  in  with  her  pet  birds, 
open  their  cages  and  frolic  with  them  to  her  heart's 
content.  The  fact  was,  I  was  somewhat  anxious 
for  fear  our  quiet,  sentimental  little  girl  would 
be  homesick,  —  taken  away  into  a  foreign  land, 
where  she  could  not  even  speak  to  the  servants ; 
away  from  all  her  companions,  especially  her 
little  five-year-old  cousin  Annie  Chickering,  who 
had  been  her  constant  playmate.  Now,  I  could 
only  for  the  present  supply  the  deficiency  with 
birds,  of  which  she  was  very  fond,  especially  some 
young  sparrows  she  had  brought  up  from  the  nest. 
Now  let  me  tell  you  that  these  much  despised 
birds  —  nuisances  only  because  of  their  multitudi- 
nosity  —  make  the  most  affectionate  pets  imagi- 
nable. Then  it  was  my  constant  practice  every 
Sunday  morning  to  take  her  across  the  river  to 
the  other  part  of  the  city  for  a  walk,  visiting  the 
bird-market  to  her  great  entertainment,  and  then 
round  by  the  Duomo  back  home,  stopping  on  our 
way  to  purchase  a  handful  of  flowers  for  mamma 
from  the  flower-girls,  some  of  whom  I  remembered 
as  old  stagers. 

As  I  like  to  write  for  all  ages,  if  I  cannot  "  for 
all  time,"  I  must  not  forget  the  very  little  ones, 
and  will  here  relate  an  incident  just  silly  enough 
to  make  them  laugh.  I  was  taking  one  of  my 
Sunday  morning  strolls  with  my  little  daughter, 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  255 

when  the  band  came  down  from  the  Pitti  Palace 
playing  the  "  Royal  March."  We  immediately  fell 
in  with  the  rest  of  the  rabble,  and  followed  on,  sing- 
ing the  tune,  with  which  we  were  both  familiar, 
and  keeping  step  with  the  music,  when  suddenly 
a  little  sparrow  alighted  on  the  ground  almost  at 
my  side.  Without  dropping  a  note  or  a  step,  I 
squeezed  my  little  girl's  hand  to  attract  her  atten- 
tion, and  pointed  dramatically  at  the  sparrow.  My 
attitude  and  solemn  expression,  together  with  the 
uninterrupted  vocal  accompaniment,  so  hit  her 
little  funny  bump  that  she  could  sing  no  more 
for  laughing.  When  we  were  lunching  that  day, 
nothing  would  do  but  we  must  tell  mamma  about 
the  sparrow,  and  act  it  out.  So  she  began  the 
story,  and  at  the  proper  moment  I  hummed  the 
march  and  pointed  energetically  across  the  table, 
when,  presto!  like  magic  her  little  pet  sparrow 
appeared  from  somewhere,  and  with  a  familiar 
chirp  coolly  perched  upon  my  finger,  as  if  he 
knew  we  were  talking  about  his  relations,  and 
wished  to  corroborate  our  statement,  wholly  un- 
conscious of  the  gale  of  merriment  he  had  caused. 
It  did  not  take  much  to  make  us  laugh,  if  that 
absurd  little  sparrow  could  do  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

LET  me  here  confess  that  I  had  indulged  in  the 
foolish  habit  —  ever  since  we  were  married,  and 
earlier  —  of  sending  my  wife  a  bunch  of  flowers 
and  a  few  rhymes  on  the  14th  of  February, — 
Saint  Valentine's  day,  —  and  after  my  daughter 
was  born,  of  adding  a  little  bouquet  and  a  few 
smaller  rhymes  for  her.  That  you  may  judge  of 
my  manner  of  handling  that  class  of  literature,  I 
am  tempted  to  give  you  three  specimens  that 
emanated  from  my  restless  brain  on  the  14th  of 
February  in  the  year  of  which  I  write,  this  time 
warning  you  in  advance  to  skip  them,  unless  you 
have  children  by  to  jingle  them  at. 

TO  MY  WIFE. 

WHO,  who  is  that  middle-aged  gentleman,  pray? 
With  beard  and  mustache  slightly  sprinkled  with  gray, 
That  waves  in  the  wind  with  the  speed  of  his  pace, 
Like  a  long-forked  banner  hung  out  on  his  face, 
Denoting  that  all  there  is  festive  and  gay, 
As  he  murmurs,  "  One  large  and  one  little  bouquet!  " 

See,  see  how  he  leaves  other  objects  behind, 

As  he  seems  to  be  borne  on  the  wings  of  the  wind, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  257 

With  the  skirts  of  his  coat  floating  out  like  a  train  I 

See !  nothing  now  touches  the  ground  but  his  cane. 

But  still,  as  he  passes,  again  and  again 

You  hear  the  same  simple  and  touching  refrain, 

In  accents  that  heartfelt  affection  betray, 

"  For  my  darlings,  one  large  and  one  little  bouquet. 

He  crosses  the  bridge  into  Trinity  Square. 

The  flower-girls  all  in  their  glory  are  there ; 

Their  faces  the  same  he  should  certainly  know,  — 

They  bloomed  so  bewitchingly  ten  years  ago. 

But  it  seems  as  if  Flora,  in  one  of  her  freaks, 

Had  been  filling  their  baskets  by  robbing  their  cheeks ; 

Else,  where  the  carnations  that  ten  years  ago 

Bloomed  so  fresh  in  their  cheeks  as  he  passed  to  and  fro  ? 

But  he  gratefully  smiles  as  he  thinks,  since  that  day, 

To  his  large  has  been  added  his  little  bouquet. 

Then  he  carefully  makes  up  a  bunch  of  the  best  — 

Which  for  contour  and  size  would  the  "Duomo  "  suggest — 

Of  the  loveliest  flowers  to  be  found  anywhere. 

Now  the  little  bouquet  is  selected  with  care,  — 

Mignonette,  heliotrope,  all  the  tiniest  flowers  ; 

And  out  of  the  top  of  it  gracefully  towers 

A  bunch  of  that  dear  little  fairy-formed  lily 

That  grows  in  the  shade,  —  a,  petite  campanile. 

Then  oif  he  goes,  hastily  wending  his  way, 

And  admiring  his  large  and  his  little  bouquet. 

But  why  does  he  look  with  such  fondness  on  these? 
Does  he  think  of  the  time  when  she  first  became  his, 
And  how,  long  before  that,  on  a  Valentine's  day 
He  sent  her  his  first  little  modest  bouquet? 
Yes,  and  how  ever  since,  till  their  little  one  came, 
On  the  day  of  that  Saint  she  has  looked  for  the  same. 
Since  then,  as  the  annual  "festa"  occurs, 
17 


258  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

Comes  another  bouquet,  only  smaller  than  hers ; 
And  he 's  sure  they  remember  that  this  is  the  day, 
And  are  waiting  the  large  and  the  little  bouquet. 

Feb.  14, 1866. 

WITH  THE  LITTLE  BOUQUET. 

MY  darling  little  Kitty, 
Don't  you  think  it  is  a  pity 
That  your  father  is  n't  witty, 

And  a  funny  poet  too? 
If  he  were,  he  'd  write  such  verses, 
The  delight  of  all  the  nurses; 
But  they  would  not  fill  our  purses, 

For  they  hardly  ever  do. 

Notwithstanding,  once  a  year 

He  is  tempted  to  appear 

For  the  two  he  holds  most  dear 

In  the  middle  of  his  heart; 
And  do  his  best  to  mingle 
A  few  simple  words  that  jingle, 
Though  the  effort  make  him  tingle, 

And  the  perspiration  start. 

But  who  think  you  the  two  are  ? 
Dear  mamma  is  one,  quite  sure ; 
And  the  other,  dearest,  you  are. 

God  bless  you  both,  I  pray. 
And  what  do  you  think  the  time  is, 
When  my  love  expressed  in  rhyme  is, 
And  nonsense,  dear,  no  crime  is? 

Why,  Saint  Valentine's  day. 

Then  in  this  winter  weather, 
When  the  birds  are  in  high  feather, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  259 

Let  me  send  you  this,  together 

With  a  wish  for  many  hours 
Of  happiness  and  bliss,  love; 
And  when  you  Ve  finished  this,  love, 
You  '11  find  a  little  kiss,  love, 

In  the  middle  of  the  flowers. 
Feb.  14, 1866. 

TO  MY  LITTLE  FIVE-YEAR-OLD  NIECE, 
ANNIE  CHICKERING. 

THERE  was  a  little  bird, 

Saint  Valentine's  day, 
Who  had  a  little  word 

And  a  little  bouquet; 
But  where  to  find  a  mate 

Perplexed  his  little  brain. 
So  he  hopped  up  on  a  gate, 

And  peeped  'way  down  the  lane ; 
And  he  gave  a  little  squeak, 

That  meant,  "  Where  are  you,  dear?  " 
For  the  word  he  had  to  speak 

Was  for  her  little  ear. 
Then  he  looked  up  in  a  tree, 

And  up  into  the  sky, 
But  nothing  could  he  see 

With  his  little  bright  eye. 
In  a  minute,  from  the  wood, 

Six  little  birdies  flew 
Just  over  where  he  stood, 

But  they  were  two  and  two. 
And  when  he  saw  the  rest 

So  happy  were  together, 
He  smote  his  little  breast, 

And  picked  out  a  feather. 
And  in  a  minor  key 

Scarcely  to  be  heard, 


260  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

He  warbled  out,  "  Ah,  me! 

Miserable  little  bird !  " 
The  flowers  then  he  put 

Underneath  his  wing, 
Standing  on  one  foot, 

With  one  eye  shut,  poor  thing  1 
But  when  almost  asleep, 

His  little  eye  he  wipes, 
And  gives  one  little  peep 

Just  to  clear  his  pipes; 
Then  sings  a  little  ditty, 

And  starts  off  on  a  lark 
Over  to  the  city, 

Up  to  Chester  Park. 
Then  lighting  on  a  tree,  — 

A  very  high  one,  too,  — 
To  see  what  he  could  see, 

And  sing  a  stave  or  two, 
He  cocked  his  little  eye 

Way  down  upon  the  ground, 
Where,  listening  close  by, 

His  little  mate  he  found. 
Then  he  began  to  call 

In  such  a  dreadful  twitter, 
He  let  his  flowers  fall, 

And  very  nearly  hit  her: 
'*  My  dear,  dear  little  bird, 

Will  you  cheer  my  lonely  hours?  " 
She  could  not  speak  a  word, 

But  took  the  little  flowers. 
Now,  the  birdie  on  the  tree, 

His  name  began  with  Dickey; 
And  his  little  mate,  you  see, 

Was  little  "  Annie  Chickey." 

Feb.  14, 1866. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  261 

If  the  reader  has  been  patient  enough  to  wade 
through  the  above  effusions,  he  or  she  must  ac- 
knowledge that  I  do  possess  a  faculty  for  rhyming, 
for  which  I  claim  no  credit ;  it  was  born  with  me, 
as  my  voice  was.  If  rhyming  only  constituted 
poetry,  what  a  poet  I  might  have  been !  —  which 
reminds  me  of  an  argument  I  once  had  with  a  man 
who,  intelligent  enough  in  other  respects,  could 
see  nothing  to  admire  in  poetry  that  did  not  rhyme. 
Not  being  capable  himself  of  finding  a  rhyme  for 
"  hay,"  his  admiration  was  the  greater  for  poets  who 
possessed  that  faculty.  Hood  was  his  particular 
favorite ;  and  he  was  never  weary  of  repeating  Poe's 
"  Raven,"  not  for  the  poetry  in  it,  but  simply  for 
the  jingle  and  the  trot.  I  astonished  him  by 
telling  him  that  rhyme  was  not  at  all  necessary  to 
poetry,  —  that  anybody  could  rhyme,  that  I  could 
find  twenty  rhymes  to  one  word,  —  and  offering 
him  a  wager  that  I  could  write  a  poem  of  not  less 
than  twenty  lines  that  should  all  rhyme  to  one 
word,  and  not  much  poetry  about  it  either.  He 
didn't  dispute  my  last  admission,  but  took  me 
up  on  twenty  rhymes,  when  I  produced  from  my 
pocket-book  the  following  string  of  nonsense  sug- 
gested in  a  weak  moment  by  the  word  "  hide,"  and 
its  triple  meaning :  — 

He  hied  him  home  to  hide  his  hide, 
And  then  he  dyed  his  hide  and  died. 


262  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

"What!  dyed  inside?"  the  widow  cried, 

And  turned  aside  her  head,  and  sighed; 

"  Oh,  why?  oh,  why?  "  and  thus  she  "  why-ed," 

And  opening  all  the  windows  wide, 

The  slow,  receding  tide  she  eyed. 

As  round  her  neck  a  rope  she  tied, 

She  on  the  wall  a  spider  spied ; 

When  quickly  for  her  broom  she  hied, 

And  eyed  the  dried  hide  dyed  inside. 

Now  with  one  stride  she  stood  beside 

Her  husband's  coffin,  long  and  wide ; 

Then  off  the  lid  with  pride  she  pried, 

And  to  suppress  her  grief  she  tried ; 

But  when  she  cried,  "  I  'd  give  the  hide 

If  I  by  thee  could  lie,"  she  lied. 


This  unpoetic  man,  after  reading  the  above,  com- 
plimented me  by  saying,  "  That 's  a  sort  of  imita- 
tion of  Tom  Hood,  is  n't  it  ? "  Poor  Hood !  with 
all  his  rhyming  he  was  content  to  have  it  said  of 
him  after  he  was  dead,  "  He  sang  the  '  Song  of  the 
Shirt.' "  And  that  was  enough,  even  if  he  had 
written  nothing  else,  to  establish  his  claim  to  be 
called  a  poet.  Now  that  I  have  sufficiently  proved 
that  I  have  no  claim,  I  should  as  soon  think  of 
setting  up  for  a  genius. 

Some  great  man  has  denned  "  genius  "  as  illimi- 
table patience.  I  should  be  inclined  to  agree  with 
him,  were  it  not  that  patience  is  a  quality  that 
genius  affects  to  despise.  She  is,  undoubtedly,  a 
great  plague,  holding  one  down  to  earth  when  one 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  263 

would  fain  soar  into  the  infinite  regions  of  the 
imagination.  If  she  had  only  kept  her  distance 
and  given  me  room  to  expand  my  wings,  and  an 
atmosphere  that  I  could  breathe  without  filtering, 
I  might  have  been  —  a  genius. 

It  must  be  a  very  grave  responsibility,  —  which 
perhaps  accounts  for  geniuses  being  such  an  un- 
happy, discontented,  if  not  immoral  set.  On  the 
whole,  I  am  glad  I  am  not  one  of  them.  I  think 
I  hear  a  murmuring  of  "  Sour  grapes ! "  but  I  heed 
it  not. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

To  return  to  the  legitimate  business  of  my  nar- 
rative, I  now  found  a  studio  in  which  to  model  the 
statue  of  Edwin  Forrest.  The  next  year,  1867, 
when  this  statue  was  ready  for  the  marble,  I  be- 
gan my  "  Eve  stepping  into  Life."  This  figure  — 
my  most  ambitious  work  thus  far,  as  I  consider 
the  female  human  form  the  most  beautiful  as  well 
as  the  most  difficult  in  Nature  to  represent  —  I 
began,  for  want  of  a  better  place,  in  a  hay-loft 
outside  of  the  Porta  Roinana.  I  worked  upward 
of  a  year  and  a  half  upon  it,  and  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  receiving  an  order  for  it  in  marble  (before 
the  model  was  complete)  from  a  New  York  gen- 
tleman whose  bust  I  was  then  modelling.  Here 
would  seem  to  be  a  good  place  to  introduce  a  very 
amusing  and  plausible  dream  I  had  one  night,  of 
my  Eve ;  showing  the  train  of  thought  that  occu- 
pied my  brain  at  that  time,  sleeping  as  well  as 
waking,  it  would  seem. 

Entering  my  studio  one  morning  —  so  my  dream 
ran  —  I  was  shocked  and  horrified  to  see  the  tres- 
polo  vacant,  where  my  Eve  had  stood.  Who  had 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  265 

taken  her  away  ?  Where  had  she  gone  ?  Where 
was  she  hiding?  were  the  thoughts  that  seemed 
to  be  most  natural.  Hunting  in  every  part  of  the 
studio,  I  at  last  saw  a  knee  protruding  from  the 
imperfectly  closed  door  of  a  closet  in  one  corner, 
and  was  dreadfully  alarmed  to  observe  that  the 
edge  of  the  door  was  imbedding  itself  into  the 
clay  flesh ;  and  when  I  tried  to  open  the  door,  I 
found  she  was  holding  it  on  the  inside.  In  vain 
I  appealed  to  her  in  my  most  entreating  tones, 
"Pray  let  go  the  door;  don't  you  see  that  you 
are  spoiling  your  knee  ? "  One  would  have  thought 
she  might  have  felt  it  as  well.  At  last  she  let  go ; 
and  when  I  entered  she  was  crouching  in  the  cor- 
ner, cracking  at  every  joint.  Upon  seeing  this,  I 
administered  a  mild  reproof:  "Oh,  Eve!  how 
could  you  do  such  a  thing?  Don't  you  see  that 
you  have  spoiled  yourself  ?  How  could  you  do  it  ?  " 
"  I  was  afraid,"  she  answered.  "  What  were  you 
afraid  of  ? "  "I  heard  some  one  coming,  and  I  was 
ashamed,  because  I  was  naked."  "  Ah,  then,"  I 
said  sorrowfully,  "  you  are  not  the  Eve  I  intended 
to  make,  or  you  would  not  have  known  that  you 
were  naked." 

Now,  this  dream  was  the  natural  birth  of  my 
constant  thought,  founded  upon  the  words  of  Scrip- 
ture :  "  And  Adam  said  :  I  heard  thy  voice  in  the 
garden,  and  I  was  afraid,  because  I  was  naked; 


266  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

and  I  hid  myself.  And  the  Lord  said :  Who 
told  thee  that  thou  wast  naked  ? "  It  was  always 
before  me,  —  the  effort  to  make  Eve  appear  per- 
fectly unconscious  of  her  nudity.  How  far  I  suc- 
ceeded, the  statue  remains  to  show. 

Among  the  twelve  or  fifteen  models  I  had  for 
this  statue,  the  most  perfect  one  — like  the  fa- 
vorite model  for  the  "  Pandora  "  ten  years  before  — 
was  engaged  to  be  married  at  the  time  she  was  sit- 
ting —  or  rather,  standing  —  to  me.  One  day  when 
she  came,  she  told  me  of  her  engagement,  and  tak- 
ing a  letter  from  her  pocket,  very  naively  asked 
me  if  I  would  please  read  it  to  her,  as  she  could 
not  read  or  write.  It  was  a  love-letter  from  her 
intended,  who  had  probably  employed  a  public 
scribe  to  write  it,  trusting  to  her  finding  some  one 
—  perhaps  I  was  the  one  he  thought  of  —  to  read 
it  to  her.  Having  learned  to  read  and  pronounce 
Italian  correctly,  even  before  I  understood  it  at  all, 
in  order  to  be  able  to  sing  the  language,  I  was  able 
to  read  the  letter  to  her  great  delight,  although  I 
could  not  understand  more  than  half  of  it;  but 
that  was  not  at  all  important.  She  was  married 
shortly  after  my  statue  was  completed,  and  I  did 
not  see  her  again  for  five  or  six  years,  when  one 
day  she  appeared  in  great  distress.  Her  husband 
was  sick  of  consumption  in  the  hospital,  —  it  must 
have  been,  by  the  way,  a  very  slow  one,  for  he  is 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  267 

still  living,  and  most  of  his  time  in  the  hospital,  — 
leaving  her  to  support  herself  and  three  small  chil- 
dren, who  were  now  starving  for  want  of  bread ; 
she  herself  bearing  witness,  in  her  emaciated  ap- 
pearance, to  the  truth  of  what  she  said.  From 
that  day  to  this,  the  children  have  never  cried  in 
vain  for  bread ;  the  nearest  baker  having  a  stand- 
ing order  to  prevent  that.  Since  then,  without 
fail,  I  have  received  every  Easter  morning  a  letter 
expressing  her  gratitude,  and  invoking  the  bless- 
ings of  the  Virgin  and  all  the  Saints  on  me  and 
mine.  And  all  for  a  little  bread  !  Yerily,  it  does 
pay  to  "  cast  your  bread  upon  the  waters."  These 
letters  at  first  were  written  for  her  by  some  friend ; 
but  for  the  last  few  years  her  oldest  boy  —  whom  she 
has  succeeded  in  educating  by  the  labor  of  her  own 
hands,  although  she  is  now  nearly  blind,  and  her 
husband  still  unable  to  work  —  composes,  writes, 
and  brings  them  to  me  himself ;  and  I  assure  you 
that  they  are  remarkable  both  for  composition  and 
penmanship. 

Now,  to  show  you  the  simplicity  of  these  people, 
last  year  there  occurred  an  alarming  number  of 
cases  of  small-pox  in  their  neighborhood,  insomuch 
that  foreigners  did  not  dare  to  enter  the  public 
vehicles  for  fear  of  contagion.  But  the  natives, 
who  run  from  the  first  rumor  of  cholera,  seem  to 
think  as  little  of  small-pox  as  of  measles.  When 


268  MY  THREESCOKE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

Easter  came  round  it  brought,  as  usual,  the  boy 
with  his  letter,  and  this  time  accompanied  by  his 
younger  sister.  I  took  the  letter,  and,  as  I  always 
do  to  please  him,  opened  and  read  it  in  his  pres- 
ence. After  the  usual  expressions  of  gratitude,  his 
mother  informed  me  that  with  all  their  other 
troubles  her  little  daughter  had  been  at  death's 
door  with  small-pox,  and  had  only  just  recovered. 
I  then  turned  for  the  first  time  to  the  child  before 
me,  and  lo !  her  face  was  scarlet  with  the  blotches. 
I  quietly  put  a  franc  into  her  hand,  and  sent  the 
children  away;  after  which  I  dropped  the  letter 
into  the  stove,  and  smiled  at  their  simplicity.  But 
I  did  not  dare  to  mention  it  upstairs  till  a  month 
had  passed,  and  with  it  all  fear  of  contagion. 

Speaking  of  public  scribes,  their  occupation  is 
now  gone.  Thirty  years  ago,  on  various  street 
corners  might  be  seen  the  little  table,  desk,  and 
chair  of  the  scribe,  to  whom  flocked  fathers  and 
mothers,  sons  and  daughters,  friends  and  lovers, 
all  anxious  to  express  their  feelings,  affectionate 
or  otherwise,  on  paper,  but  only  able,  from  igno- 
rance, to  dictate  to  this  important  member  of 
society.  Now  the  ten  or  twelve-year-old  children 
do  the  writing  for  the  family.  1  formerly  had  two 
skilled  workmen  in  my  employ  who  were  dependent 
upon  their  children  to  sign  their  names  for  them. 
This  improvement  has  been  brought  about  by  the 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  269 

opening  of  public  schools  on  the  advent  of  Victor 
Emmanuel. 

Thirty  years  ago  priests  were  stationed  at  the 
custom-houses,  to  examine  every  trunk  or  box  and 
confiscate  any  Protestant  Bible  or  other  such  incen- 
diary literature.  Now  you  may  load  your  trunk 
with  Bibles,  and  no  question  will  be  asked,  —  since 
the  advent  of  Victor  Emmanuel. 

Thirty  years  ago  you  could  almost  count  upon 
an  annual  overflow  of  the  Arno,  flooding  the  shops 
and  cellars  of  a  large  portion  of  the  city,  and  leav- 
ing the  breath  of  miasma  in  all  the  dwellings. 
Walking  through  the  Piazza  Santa  Croce  the  other 
day,  I  noticed  on  the  front  of  one  of  the  buildings 
a  strip  of  marble  set  in,  upon  which  was  engraved, 
"  Sept.  13,  1857,  the  water  of  the  Arno  reached 
this  level."  Upon  measuring,  I  found  this  line  be- 
tween thirteen  and  fourteen  feet  above  the  pave- 
ment; consequently  upward  of  eight  feet  over  the 
floor  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Cross,  the  "  West- 
minster Abbey  of  Florence."  Think  what  a  state 
the  vaults  must  have  been  in  after  the  flood !  Now 
the  river  can  flow  peacefully  or  rush  madly  in  its 
course  through  the  city,  but  impotent  to  leave  its 
bed  to  do  further  harm,  owing  to  the  vast  sewers 
and  drains  sunk  in  the  principal  streets, —  all 
since  the  advent  of  Victor  Emmanuel. 

Then,  I  trust  that  those  sentimental  worshippers 


270  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

of  everything  old  and  musty,  when  they  visit  Flor- 
ence in  the  near  future  and  find  a  magnificent  (but 
bright  and  new)  Piazza  opened  in  the  heart  of  the 
city,  will  pause  for  a  moment  in  its  midst  before 
the  grand  statue  of  "  II  Re  Galantuomo,"  and 
remembering  what  he  did  for  the  education,  en- 
lightenment, and  moral  and  physical  health  of 
Italy,  not  mourn  too  loudly  for  the  loss  of  the 
precious,  old,  delightfully  nasty  Ghetto  that  for  so 
many  years  occupied  this  site,  a  plague-spot  in  the 
fair  bosom  of  Florence. 

"When  my  Eve  was  two  thirds  finished  in  clay, 
there  happened  to  be  three  or  four  very  decent 
studios  ready  for  occupation  not  far  from  where  I 
was  then  situated ;  two  of  these  I  secured,  as  I  was 
very  desirous  of  finishing  my  statue  in  their  better 
light.  This  necessitated  getting  her  down  from 
the  hay-loft  on  the  second  floor,  and  carrying  her 
twenty  rods  or  more  to  her  new  location.  How 
to  do  it  without  shaking  down  or  injuring  the  soft 
clay,  did  seem  at  first  a  poser ;  but  Necessity,  in- 
voking one  of  her  children,  soon  devised  the  fol- 
lowing plan.  I  erected  a  joist  at  each  corner, 
screwing  them  tightly  to  the  platform  upon  which 
Eve  stood,  and  with  cross-bars  fastened  them 
firmly  together  at  the  top,  above  her  head.  I  then 
put  braces  from  this  frame  to  her  shoulders,  to 
prevent  oscillation.  Then  firmly  screwing  two 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  271 

long  horizontal  bars  at  a  convenient  distance  from 
the  bottom,  to  lift  it  by,  six  or  eight  men  removed 
her  from  the  stand,  and  conveyed  her  to  the  large 
open  door  of  the  loft,  above  which  was  fastened, 
in  the  wall  outside,  a  strong  iron  crane,  formerly 
used  for  hoisting  in  hay.  A  rope  was  then  fas- 
tened to  the  top  of  the  frame,  and  passed  through 
a  pulley  in  the  crane.  In  this  manner  Miss  Eve 
was  swung  out  into  mid-air.  Not  a  very  dignified 
position  for  the  future  mother  of  mankind ;  but  she 
did  not  complain,  or  (what  was  better)  move  a 
muscle,  while  she  was  gently  lowered  to  the  ground 
and  conveyed  to  her  new  abode. 

Here  I  next  modelled  the  little  head  "  La  Petite 
Pensee,"  which  has  had  such  a  wonderful  success. 
I  also  made  studies  for  the  statues  "  Christmas 
Morning  "  and  "  Saint  Valentine's  Day." 

About  this  time  my  old  friend  Hiram  Powers 
—  whose  studio  and  house  were  still  in  the  old 
place  in  Via  dei  Serragli,  where  I  first  met  him  — 
made  me  a  visit  one  morning,  and  invited  me  to 
walk  with  him  up  the  Poggio  Imperiale,  to  look  at 
a  house  then  in  process  of  construction,  in  what 
is  now  the  most  beautiful  quarter  of  Florence,  but 
which,  five  years  before  the  period  of  which  I  am 
writing,  was  covered  by  the  vineyard  of  an  old 
monastery,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  This 
was  one  of  the  first  houses,  if  not  the  very  first 


272  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

house  erected  in  the  midst  of  this  old  vineyard, 
before  the  roads  were  more  than  lined  out  on  the 
map.  Here  we  mounted  the  scaffolding  to  the  top 
of  the  new  walls,  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  the  view 
of  the  city  from  this  elevated  position.  "  What  do 
you  think  of  this  spot,"  said  Powers,  "  for  an  old 
man  to  end  his  days  in  ? "  I  agreed  with  him  that 
it  was  a  delightful  situation.  "Well,"  said  he, 
"  there  is  another  lot  adjoining  this,  just  lined  out ; 
if  you  will  build  on  that,  I  will  buy  this."  I  went 
home  and  told  my  wife,  not  supposing  she  would 
listen  to  it  for  a  moment;  but  much  to  my  sur- 
prise, she  began  planning  the  construction  of  the 
house  and  studio  combined,  —  even  laying  out  the 
garden,  which  it  seemed  to  her  would  be  a  little 
Paradise.  To  have  a  flower-garden  all  her  own, 
and  a  front  door  all  to  ourselves ;  the  lower  floor 
of  the  house  in  the  midst  of  the  garden  to  be  de- 
voted to  the  studio,  and  the  second  floor  to  be  our 
dwelling,  independent  of  everybody,  —  what  bliss, 
after  living  two  years  on  the  third  floor,  even 
though  it  were  of  an  old  palace  !  So  it  came  about 
that  one  day  Powers  and  I  went  down  to  the  law- 
yer's to  sign  and  witness  each  other's  deeds  of  pur- 
chase of  our  real  estate.  My  wife  and  I  then 
decided,  as  the  past  two  years  had  been  very  pros- 
perous, to  make  a  visit  to  America  while  the  walls 
of  our  new  villa  were  being  erected.  • 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  273 

I  forgot  to  mention  in  its  proper  place,  that  we 
made  our  first  visit  to  Rome  the  year  before  this, 
where  we  spent  two  months,  making  some  very 
pleasant  friends  and  acquaintances,  the  most 
illustrious  of  whom  was  the  great  Franz  Liszt. 
Having  an  introduction  to  him,  and  learning  that 
he  would  receive  me  one  Sunday  morning,  we  took 
a  carriage  to  the  Vatican,  where  the  Pope  had 
assigned  him  an  apartment. 

Leaving  my  wife  and  daughter  in  the  carriage, 
I  went  up  and  found  him  alone,  a  most  genial  and 
benevolent  gentleman  of  fifty-five  years,  —  as  he  in- 
formed me  in  the  course  of  conversation ;  saying, 
although  he  had  always  had  a  great  desire  to  visit 
America,  he  thought  he  was  then  too  old.  We 
naturally  came  to  speak  of  American  pianos,  among 
other  American  things.  He  was  pleased  to  learn 
that  I  knew  the  Chickerings  so  well,  and  appre- 
ciated so  highly  their  pianos.  He  only  knew  them 
by  reputation,  never  having  had  the  pleasure  of 
playing  upon  one  of  them.  Not  long  after  this  he 
came  into  possession  of  one,  much  to  his  delight, 
as  he  expressed  to  the  firm  in  a  very  complimen- 
tary letter. 

As  he  spoke  of  the  pianos,  alluding  to  the  one  he 
used,  he  walked  toward  it  and  was  about  to  open 
it,  when  I  begged  of  him,  if  he  intended  to  touch 
his  fingers  to  the  keys,  that  he  would  permit  me  to 

18 


274  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

fetch  my  wife  up  from  the  carriage,  as  I  could  not 
bear  that  she  should  not  enjoy  with  me  the  pleasure. 

"  By  all  means,"  said  he. 

When  I  returned  with  her  and  our  little  golden- 
haired  girl,  he  sat  down  and  improvised  most 
divinely  for  twenty  minutes  or  more.  As  we 
departed,  he  placed  his  hands  on  the  little  girl's 
head  and  kissed  her  forehead.  She  is  now  as 
proud  of  that  kiss  as  he  was  of  that  of  Beethoven, 
bestowed  on  him  when  he  was  a  little  lad.  Indeed 
she  loves  to  fancy  it  Beethoven's  kiss  transmitted 
to  her.  It  may  have  been  a  weak  dilution. 

We  parted  after  this  —  to  me  —  delightful  half- 
hour,  he  promising  to  sit  to  me  for  his  bust  when 
he  again  came  to  Florence.  I  was  mean  enough  to 
go  directly  home  and  make  a  bad  pun  on  his  name ; 
but  as  it  was,  on  the  whole,  complimentary,  I  for- 
gave myself,  and  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for 
repeating  it  here, — 

The  heavenliest  melody  in  heaven  was  missed ; 
His  wooing  even  she  could  not  resist ; 
The  Angels  sought  her,  and  for  sorrow  wept ; 
To  find  her,  every  golden  harp  was  swept, 

But  still  their  wet  eyes  glistened ; 
Until  the  truant  strain  his  fingers  kissed, 
When  joyfully  a  Seraph  whispered  "  Liszt  I  " 

And  every  angel  listened. 

On  going  back  to  Florence,  I  put  up  the  bust  of 
Liszt  while  he  was  fresh  in  my  memory ;  but  after 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  275 

waiting  in  vain  for  him  two  or  three  months,  I  fin- 
ished it  from  photographs.  When  he  finally  came, 
some  months  afterward,  the  bust  was  finished  in 
marble.  He  expressed  himself  very  much  pleased 
with  the  work ;  and  whether  this  was  the  cause  or 
the  effect  of  his  being  particularly  amiable  that 
day,  I  do  not  know,  but  hearing  a  piano  overhead, 
he  smilingly  inquired  if  that  were  a  Chickering.  I 
told  him  I  was  sorry  to  say  it  was  not.  My  daugh- 
ter was  having  a  birthday-party  of  little  girls,  and 
Mrs.  Ball  was  playing  for  them  to  dance.  He 
asked  if  he  might  -  go  up,  evidently  wishing  to 
return  her  visit.  We  went  up,  and  after  greeting 
the  children,  he  was  soon  seated  at  the  piano, 
improvising  as  exquisitely  as  before,  but  in  a 
lighter  vein  to  please  the  little  ones.  On  taking 
his  leave  he  administered  a  second  homoeopathic 
dilution  of  the  Beethoven  kiss  to  our  "  Kitty," 
greatly  to  her  delight,  for  by  this  time  she  had 
learned  to  appreciate  the  honor. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

To  return  to  our  journey  to  America.  Another 
inducement  to  our  going  at  this  time  was  a  desire 
to  be  in  Boston  at  the  unveiling  of  my  Washington. 
But  in  that  we  were  doomed  to  disappointment,  as 
we  found  on  our  arrival  that  it  had  been  unavoid- 
ably postponed  till  the  following  season.  Since 
then  I  have  had  no  desire  to  be  present  at  the 
dedication  of  any  of  my  works.  I  consequently 
have  never  witnessed  that  ceremony,  and  do  not 
know  from  my  own  experience  what  it  is  like. 

While  in  Boston  I  was  invited  to  make  a  small 
model  for  a  statue  of  Gov.  John  A.  Andrew,  in 
competition  with  several  other  artists.  This  I 
modelled  at  my  house,  not  having  taken  a  studio. 
I  was  fortunate  enough  to  receive  the  commission 
for  the  marble  statue  for  the  State  House.  This 
was  a  great  relief  to  my  mind,  as  I  began  to  fear 
that  I  had  been  a  little  rash  in  laying  out  so  much 
money  in  building  my  villa ;  but  this  liberal  com- 
mission sent  me  back  very  happy.  This  time  we 
took  back  with  us  my  wife's  mother  and,  to  our 
daughter's  great  delight,  our  little  niece  Annie 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  277 

Chickering,  who,  being  in  delicate  health,  remained 
with  us  the  next  five  years. 

On  our  arrival  in  Florence  we  found  the  walls 
of  our  villa  all  up  and  covered  in.  Then  followed 
a  series  of  delightfully  happy  days  and  hours  in 
planning  and  arranging  the  interior  of  our  new 
house  and  studio,  which  we  entered  and  occupied 
the  next  year,  in  spite  of  the  Italian  saying  that 
the  first  year  the  house  should  be  occupied  by  the 
builder's  enemies,  the  second  by  his  friends,  and 
the  third  by  himself  and  his  family,  it  being  only 
then  considered  safe. 

I  had  by  this  time  finished  the  model  of  the 
Andrew  statue,  which  was  the  first  to  be  begun  in 
marble  in  -my  new  studio ;  and  the  first  work  in 
clay  was  the  group  for  the  Chickering  monument, 
now  in  Mount  Auburn  Cemetery.  This  group  — 
designed  for  the  family  several  years  before  — 
represents  the  Angel  of  Death,  a  winged  youth, 
lifting  the  veil  from  the  eyes  of  Faith,  a  kneeling 
female  figure,  who  until  now  has  only  seen  "  as 
through  a  glass  darkly,"  but  now  sees  "face  to 
face."  I  call  it  "The  Realization  of  Faith." 

As  an  instance  to  prove  that  the  same  super- 
stitions are  indulged  in  the  world  over,  when  the 
marble  for  the  Andrew  statue,  as  well  as  the  clay 
for  my  group,  was  ready  to  begin  work  upon,  I 
called  the  marble-cutter,  and  instructed  him  to  go 


278  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

to  work  the  next  morning.  "  But,  Signore,"  said 
he,  "  to-morrow  will  be  Friday !  You  would  not 
have  me  begin  so  important  a  work  on  Friday, 
would  you  ?  "  "  Why  not  ?  "  I  asked ;  "  I  am  going 
to  begin  my  new  group  to-morrow,  which  I  had 
forgotten  would  be  Friday ;  but  that  day  has  al- 
ways seemed  a  particularly  fortunate  day  to  me, 
so  we  will  proceed  to-morrow  morning."  "  Faccia 
lei  (As  you  please)/'  he  answered,  evidently  un- 
der protest.  Both  works  were  begun  Friday,  and  I 
believe  are  no  worse  than  my  other  works.  At 
any  rate,  he  found  no  spots  in  the  marble  of  the 
one,  and  the  clay  of  the  other  did  not  fall  down. 

My  next  two  works  were  the  statues  of  Christ- 
mas and  Saint  Valentine's  mornings,  —  two  little 
girls  of  about  eight  years,  both  in  their  night- 
dresses, up  very  early  ;  the  first,  to  see  what  has 
been  put  in  her  stocking,  and  the  other  playfully 
hiding  her  love-billet.  These  were  both  ordered 
in  marble  before  they  were  completed  in  clay. 
About  this  time  I  modelled  my  statue  of  "  Love's 
Memories." 

I  now  began  an  ideal  statue  of  Saint  John  the 
Evangelist,  to  the  order  of  Mr.  Aaron  D.  Williams, 
of  Boston,  who  placed  it,  when  finished,  in  his  new 
house  in  the  Highlands,  and  under  the  direction  of 
Mrs.  Williams  so  arranged  the  light,  draperies,  and 
background  that,  without  seeing  them,  it  would  be 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  279 

impossible  to  conceive  of  the  importance  of  such 
things,  or  how  much  the  beauty  of  a  work  of  Art 
may  be  enhanced  by  a  judicious  arrangement  of 
them.  Indeed,  when  I  first  saw  the  statue  in  their 
house  I  could  hardly  believe  that  I  had  made  it,  or 
restrain  my  tears.  This  statue  has  always  been  a 
favorite  with  all,  among  my  works.  My  old  friend 
Hiram  Powers  considered  it  my  best  figure.  Poor 
man !  he  did  not  live  to  see  anything  more  of  mine. 
He  had  been  suffering  for  more  than  a  year  from 
bronchitis,  which  carried  him  off  that  year, — 1875. 
He  died,  as  he  had  lived,  a  good,  brave,  and  con- 
fident Christian,  leaving  a  widow,  three  sons,  and 
three  daughters.  Losing  him,  I  lost  a  good  and 
faithful  friend  and  neighbor.  He  was  buried  in 
the  Protestant  Cemetery  in  Florence,  where  a  few 
weeks  after,  I  visited  his  grave.  The  foundation 
only  was  then  prepared  to  receive  the  monumental 
stone ;  and  as  I  stood  there,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
the  white  marbles  were  crowding  in  on  all  sides  to 
guard  his  grave  until  his  own  should  be  in  place ; 
and  the  conceit  occurred  to  me  to  let  the  marble, 
which  while  living  he  made  so  eloquent,  pronounce 
his  eulogy.  On  returning  home  I  wrote  this  sim- 
ple eulogy,  and  hid  it  away  for  upward  of  five 
years  from  all  eyes,  even  my  wife's,  until  one 
evening  I  had  a  visit  from  my  old  friend  and 
fellow  apprentice,  the  serious  one  of  the  Bewick 


280  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

Company,    now    the    Rev.    George    Miles.      Mrs. 
Powers  was  present,  and  was  introduced  to  him. 
As  he  was  about  to  leave  Florence  for  Rome,  the 
idea  occurred  to  me  to  show  him  the  long-hidden 
eulogy  and  get  him  to  send  a  copy  of  it  to  Mrs. 
Powers  from  Rome  anonymously.     When  he  re- 
turned to  Florence,  he  asked  me  if  I  had  heard 
anything  from  it,  saying  that  he  had  sent  it  as 
I  requested.     I  told  him  no,  and  that  I  should  still 
keep  the  secret.     He,  poor  fellow !  died  a  short 
time  after  returning    home.      One    evening,  two 
years  after  this,  I  was  sitting  in  the  Powerses' 
garden  with  the  family,  talking  with  Miss  Nannie 
about  her  father,  when  from  sudden  impulse   I 
asked  her  if  her  mother  ever  received  an  anony- 
mous  eulogy  to  him.     "Yes,"  said  she,  eagerly; 
"  did  you  send  it  ? "     "  No,  but  I  know  who  did  ; 
and  as  he  is  dead,  it  is  no  longer  a  secret."     You 
see  T  still  wished  to  screen  myself,  should  circum- 
stance require  it,  meanly  willing  to  put  it  off  on 
my  friend.     She  turned  to  her  mother.     "  Mamma, 
Mr.  Ball  knows  who  sent  the  mysterious  eulogy," 
I  then  recalled  to  her  memory  my  friend,  and  told 
her  he  sent  it.     She  said  she  had  thought  of  every- 
body in   Rome,  and  decided  that  it  was   either 
William   W.  Story   or  "Tom"  Trollope,  both   of 
whom  lived    in  Rome  and   were  friends   of  Mr. 
Powers.     "Well,"   I  thought,  "if   she  thinks  it 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  281 

good  enough  to  attribute  to  either  of  those  men, 
I  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it."  I  then  confessed 
that  although  I  had  told  her  the  truth,  I  had  not 
told  the  whole  truth ;  that  my  friend  did  send  it, 
but  that  I  wrote  it.  She  flattered  me  by  request- 
ing an  autograph  copy  of  this  old-fashioned  epitaph, 
the  theme  of  this  long  story. 

TO  HIRAM  POWERS. 

Found  rest  within  this  hallowed  retreat, 
One  of  the  noblest  hearts  that  ever  beat; 
Sincere  and  kind,  compassionate  and  just, 
Fearless  of  aught  but  God:  in  his  sure  trust 
He  walked,  he  lived,  he  died ;  and  I  bemoan 
With  you,  —  yes,  I,  poor,  cold,  but  grateful  stone  I 
Would  you  the  true  interpretation  seek? 
His  fingers  gave  me  life  to  breathe  and  speak; 
Raised  me  from  earth,  and  let  my  spirit  free; 
The  soul  God  gave  him,  he  breathed  into  me. 
But  now  those  eyes  so  wonderful  are  closed, 
Those  cunning  fingers  all  to  sleep  composed ; 
And  I  am  here  to  guard  his  sacred  dust, 
While  he,  made  perfect,  walketh  with  the  just. 

About  this  time  I  received  a  letter  from  Rev. 
Mr.  Eliot  of  St.  Louis,  saying  that  two  years  be- 
fore, he  had  visited  my  studio,  and  had  always 
remembered  pleasantly  a  small  group  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  and  a  liberated  slave,  and  that  he  was  one 
of  the  committee  of  the  "Freedmen's  Memorial 
Society,"  empowered  to  select  a  design  for  the 


282  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

memorial;  requesting  me  to  submit  to  the  com- 
mittee photographs  of  the  above  group,  and  my 
terms  for  furnishing  the  same  in  bronze,  nine  or 
ten  feet  high.  This  I  did  with  alacrity,  and  a 
favorable  answer  came  by  return  of  mail.  They 
were  delighted  with  the  group,  and  hoped  I  would 
be  pleased  to  accept  the  amount  at  their  disposal 
(117,000),  considering  the  source  from  which  it 
came,  and  trusting  some  other  city  might  want  a 
duplicate.  Of  course  I  accepted  their  offer,  for 
you  must  remember  that  every  cent  of  this  money 
was  contributed  by  the  freed  men  and  women. 
The  first  five  dollars  of  this  fund  were  brought  to 
the  colonel  of  a  negro  regiment  by  a  poor  negro 
woman,  "  to  buy  a  monument  for  Mas'r  Lincoln." 
I  at  once  went  to  work  on  the  model,  —  about  ten 
feet  high, —  and  when  finished,  sent  it  to  Munich, 
where  it  was  cast  at  the  Royal  Foundry  of  Herr 
von  Muller,  and  erected  in  the  city  of  Washington 
in  1875. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

A  YEAR  before  the  date  at  the  close  of  the  last 
chapter,  being  in  America,  the  Committee  of  the 
Freedmen's  Memorial  Society  expressed  a  desire 
that  I  should  visit  Washington  to  see  where  they 
intended  to  place  the  Emancipation  Group,  and  to 
give  them  my  ideas  in  regard  to  the  pedestal,  for 
which  Congress  had  made  an  appropriation. 

Armed  with  letters  of  introduction  from  Rev. 
W.  G.  Eliot  —  one  of  the  committee  —  to  President 
Grant,  and  to  General  Babcock,  Director  of  Public 
Works,  I  started  for  Washington,  taking  the  Fall 
River  boat  to  New  York.  Late  in  the  evening  the 
boat  stopped  at  Newport  to  take  on  passengers ; 
among  whom  that  night,  as  luck  would  have  it, 
was  General  Grant  with  a  party  of  friends,  on  his 
way  to  Long  Branch,  where  he  usually  spent  his 
summer  vacation.  So  it  seemed  we  were  to  leave 
New  York  on  the  morrow  in  different  directions, 
and  I  should  miss  my  opportunity  for  an  introduc- 
tion, —  which  I  considered  very  important,  —  as  I 
knew  none  of  his  friends  on  board.  But  seeing 


284  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

him  leave  them,  and  wander  off  into  the  dim 
shadow  at  a  distant  part  of  the  deck,  I  rashly  de- 
termined to  follow  him  and  introduce  myself,  as  he 
stood  alone,  smoking.  If  I  had  thought  twice,  I 
should  have  hesitated  before  venturing  to  interrupt 
his  meditations,  although  it  seemed  my  only 
chance;  but  approaching  him  I  said,  extending 
my  hand, — 

"  This  is  General  Grant,  I  believe  ?  " 

He  turned,  bowed,  and  took  my  hand. 

"  I  have  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Rev.  —  " 
But  I  got  no  further ;  he  dropped  my  hand  as  if  it 
were  a  hot  shot. 

"  I  can't  read  any  letters  to-night." 

"  Certainly  not,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  I  only  wished  to 
know  where  I  could  have  the  honor  of  delivering 
it  to-morrow  in  New  York." 

"  I  don't  intend  to  stop  in  New  York,"  he 
growled,  and  turned  and  walked  off.  I  bade  him 
good-night,  and  walked  the  other  way,  thanking 
my  stars  that  they  did  not  give  light  enough  for 
him  to  recognize  me  again,  and  that  I  had  not 
mentioned  my  name. 

We  both  made  a  mistake  that  night,  —  I  in  judg- 
ing him  by  myself,  and  he  in  not  judging  me  at 
all,  —  for  I  might  have  been  an  angel  in  disguise, 
for  aught  he  knew,  and  there  was  a  bare  chance 
of  my  being  destined  to  pass  him  on  to  future  ages 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  285 

in  imperishable  bronze ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  it 's 
worth  while  to  cultivate  a  man  who  may  have  that 
in  his  power. 

Well,  I  decided  to  tear  up  the  letter,  proceed  on 
to  Washington,  and  try  the  other  general. 

Arriving  there  in  the  morning,  I  started  out 
immediately  after  breakfast  for  the  office  of  Gen- 
eral Babcock.  When  I  appeared  with  my  pedestal 
design  rolled  up  in  my  hand,  the  clerk  greeted  me 
with, — 

"  Ah !  you  have  come  to  compete  for  the  new 
bridge ;  twelve  o'clock  is  the  time  appointed." 

I  told  him  I  wished  to  see  General  Babcock. 

"  Well,  if  you  return  at  twelve  you  will  be  sure 
to  find  him  in,  as  he  is  to  meet  the  competitors  for 
the  new  bridge  at  that  hour." 

When  I  returned,  I  sat  down  in  the  office  to  wait 
for  him,  as  I  saw  him  in  the  adjoining  room  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  of  eager  and  excited  men,  each 
with  a  pencil  and  paper  in  hand  jotting  down  the 
different  estimates  as  the  General  read  them  off. 
When  he  had  finished,  they  dispersed,  and  he  came 
into  the  office  with  his  hat,  full  of  papers,  in  his 
hand.  I  at  once  presented  my  letter  of  introduc- 
tion, which  he  hastily  ran  through  and  asked  what 
he  could  do  for  me.  I  told  him  I  had  come  to  see 
where  they  were  to  place  my  Lincoln  group,  and  to 
show  him  a  design  for  the  pedestal. 


286  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  he,  "  the  pedestal  will  be  given  to 
the  one  who  will  do  it  for  the  lowest  figure." 

By  this  time  I  was  becoming  slightly  disgusted. 

"  I  don't  want  to  make  the  pedestal,"  I  answered ; 
"  I  don't  make  pedestals.  I  have  simply  brought  a 
suggestion  for  a  design,  and  would  like  to  know 
where  the  group  is  to  be  placed." 

"  Yes.  Well,  my  clerk  will  show  you  on  the  map 
just  where  it 's  to  go;  although  I  should  advise  it's 
being  placed  in  one  of  the  triangular  lots  near  the 
Capitol.  I  have  a  plan  in  my  mind  for  a  larger 
monument  for  the  park,  where  they  have  placed 
yours.  You  must  excuse  me  if  I  hurry  off,  as  I 
have  an  engagement  at  this  time."  And  off  he 
went. 

I  quietly  placed  my  design  on  the  desk  near  me, 
and  retired.  I  would  not  have  been  seen  again 
coming  out  of  that  office  with  a  roll  of  paper  in  my 
hand,  for  any  consideration ;  as  it  was,  I  imagined 
every  one  I  met  thought  I  had  come  there  to  grab 
something,  or  to  attempt  to  bribe  the  Senators  and 
Representatives.  I  left  the  city  that  evening,  just 
twelve  hours  after  entering  it. 

No ;  I  pride  myself  upon  being  one  of  the  few 
American  sculptors  who  have  never  asked  for  or 
received  a  government  commission. 

My  second  glimpse  of  General  Grant  was  on  my 
own  ground ;  so  I  had  the  advantage  of  him,  but 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  287 

I  scorned  to  profit  by  it.  It  was  when  he  visited 
Florence  in  1878.  Col.  J.  Schuyler  Crosby  was 
then  our  consul ;  and  a  day  or  two  before  the  Gen- 
eral's arrival,  he  suggested  that  I,  from  my  age 
and  profession,  would  be  the  proper  person  to  con- 
duct him  through  the  galleries  and  studios.  This 
I  positively  declined  to  do ;  not  that  I  presumed 
now  to  remember  with  anything  but  amusement 
our  previous  little  contretemps  on  board  the  steam- 
boat, but  I  feared  that  with  two  such  taciturn 
individuals  silence  would  finally  become  monoto- 
nous. So  the  Colonel  concluded  to  do  the  honors 
himself.  When  they  appeared  at  the  studio  and 
I  was  introduced,  the  General  took  my  hand  very 
cordially  and  bowed ;  but  never  a  word  did  he  say, 
and  of  course  without  the  slightest  suspicion  that 
we  had  ever  met  before.  I  welcomed  him  as  well 
as  I  knew  how,  and  proceeded  to  conduct  them 
through  the  studio,  leaving  the  Colonel  to  do  the 
conversation.  When  we  entered  the  room  which 
contains  my  large  model  of  the  Sumner  statue, 
the  General  stood  before  it,  and  his  mouth  opened 
at  last :  "  Charles  Sumner !  that 's  the  fourth 
Sumner  I  've  seen  this  morning,"  and  immediately 
closed  again. 

It  must  have  been  an  awful  bore  to  him  to  be 
trotted  through  the  American  studios,  to  see  star- 
ing him  in  the  face  in  each  one  of  them,  in  some 


288  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

shape  or  other,  a  Sumner,  with  whom,  I  believe,  he 
did  not  particularly  sympathize. 

A  few  days  after  this,  I  had  my  third  and  last 
glimpse  of  the  great  General.  The  Americans  in 
Florence  were  desirous  of  giving  him  a  grand  din- 
ner at  Doney's.  Of  course,  the  Consul  and  Vice- 
Consul,  Colonel  Crosby  and  Henry  Huntington,  were 
the  most  active  in  getting  up  the  entertainment, 
the  latter  of  whom  —  a  musician,  and  possessing 
a  remarkably  fine  baritone  voice  —  proposed  to  a 
few  of  us  musical  souls  that  we  should  arrange  a 
little  vocal  Finale  to  the  banquet.  For  this  pur- 
pose a  piano  was  brought  in,  and  other  preparations 
made.  Being  confident  that  "  The  Star-spangled 
Banner  "  would  be  one  of  the  features  of  the  pro- 
gramme, it  occurred  to  me  to  spring  a  little  sur- 
prise on  the  party  by  introducing  a  new  verse  into 
our  national  hymn,  temporarily,  in  honor  of  our 
illustrious  guest ;  thinking  that,  bad  as  it  might 
be,  it  would  possess  one  merit  at  least,  —  that  of 
being  a  compliment  unique  in  his  experience ;  and 
the  verse  appearing  in  such  good  company  for 
a  brief  moment  might  "  pass  muster,"  create  a 
little  diversion,  and  perhaps  make  me  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  General.  But,  like  all  "  the  best- 
laid  schemes  o*  mice  and  men,"  my  little  scheme 
was  doomed  to  "  gang  a-gley."  For  when  the  time 
arrived  to  begin  the  "  flow  of  soul,"  the  General 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  289 

rose,  and  in  a  very  brief  speech  apologized  for 
being  obliged  to  leave  us,  as  he  had  another  engage- 
ment that  evening. 

After  he  left,  our  party  soon  dispersed  without 
any  speech-making  or  song-singing.  I  then  let 
Huntington  into  my  little  exploded  plot,  and  at 
his  request  gave  him  the  unsung  verse,  as  he  was 
to  meet  the  General  later  in  the  evening.  I  do  not 
know  whether  or  not  he  made  use  of  it,  as  I  never 
heard  of  it  afterward,  and  modesty  forbade  my 
inquiring. 

TEMPORARY  ADDITION  TO    "THE  STAR-SPANGLED 
BANNER." 

Still  secure  in  her  height,  with  our  brave  son  of  Mars 
To  protect  her  broad  stripes  from  divorce  or  division ; 
And  should  envy  or  spite  dare  but  touch  her  bright  stars, 
To  the  lightning  as  soon  look  for  base  indecision. 

For  swift  as  the  shot 

Flashes  home  to  the  spot, 

Would  he  follow,  and  strike  while  the  ball  was  still  hot. 
And  the  star-spangled  banner  will  still  proudly  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 


19 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

To  return  to  where  we  were  before  branching  off 
to  follow  the  General. 

About  two  years  later  I  had  the  satisfaction  of 
receiving  a  commission  from  Hon.  Moses  Kim- 
ball  for  a  duplicate  of  the  Lincoln  group,  to  be  pre- 
sented by  him  to  the  city  of  Boston.  This  was 
erected  in  1877.  So,  after  waiting  ten  years,  my 
little  group,  modelled  in  my  chamber,  burst  forth 
into  heroic  dimensions.  Previous  to  this  I  had 
been  invited  to  compete  for  a  statue  of  Hon. 
Charles  Sumner,  and  also  for  one  of  Hon.  Josiah 
Quincy. 

And  now  comes  to  the  front  again  my  first-born, 
my  little  statuette  of  Daniel  Webster.  Mr.  Gordon 
W.  Burnham,  of  New  York,  wrote  to  me  to  say  that 
for  twenty  years  he  had  had  the  little  bronze 
before  him  in  his  library ;  and  now  he  wished  to 
perpetuate  it  in  colossal  size  on  a  pedestal  in  Cen- 
tral Park.  It  must  be  fourteen  feet  high.  Yerily, 
the  little  two-feet  bronze  will  have  grown  to  a 
manly  and  noble  stature  in  the  twenty-one  years  of 
its  life.  I  began  at  once  this  statue  to  his  order, 


MY  THKEESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  291 

which,  when  finished,  was  cast  in  bronze  in  Munich, 
and  during  the  Centennial  year,  1876,  was  erected 
in  Central  Park. 

We  this  year  again  visited  our  native  land,  went 
to  Philadelphia  to  the  great  Exposition,  returned  to 
Boston,  received  the  commission  for  the  statue  of 
Hon.  Charles  Suniner,  and  just  escaped  being  pres- 
ent at  the  unveiling  of  my  Webster  in  Central 
Park,  by  sailing  a  week  before  on  our  return  to 
Florence. 

I  am  writing  these  words  in  the  music-room 
of  the  steam-ship  "  Cephalonia,"  thirteen  years 
after  the  voyage  they  record,  again  on  my  way 
back  to  Florence.  I  was  interrupted  at  the  word 
"Florence"  by  the  steward,  to  inform  me  they 
were  preparing  for  a  funeral  on  the  main  deck. 
Yes,  the  day  before  (Sunday),  a  poor  woman 
among  the  steerage  passengers,  who  was  brought 
on  board  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption,  hoping 
to  end  her  days  in  her  native  land,  had  died 
on  board.  I  went  to  the  upper  deck,  and  looked 
down  upon  the  sad  and  singular  scene.  The 
steerage  passengers  were  all  collected  on  the  main 
deck,  —  the  women  in  their  best  hats  and  shawls; 
the  men  lounging  about  and  smoking,  till  the  cof- 
fin was  brought  out  from  the  cabin,  covered  with 
the  English  flag,  and  set  down  before  the  open 
gangway.  Then  every  man's  head  on  the  upper  as 


292  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN. 

well  as  the  lower  deck  was  uncovered,  while  the 
purser  read  a  prayer  from  the  Catholic  service, 
when,  a  rope  being  attached  to  the  head  of  the 
coffin,  it  was  slowly  lowered,  not  "  launched,"  into 
the  deep,  and  sank  from  sight.  The  attention  of 
the  women  was  then  turned  to  a  little  six-year-old 
girl,  the  child  of  the  deceased,  who  was  put  on 
board  with  this  dying  woman  by  her  husband  in 
Boston,  to  be  her  only  companion  on  this  dreary 
voyage.  Fortunately  one  of  the  women,  who  lived 
not  far  from  their  family  in  Ireland,  took  her  in 
charge  during  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

Now,  to  retrace  our  steps  thirteen  years  and  go 
on  with  my  narrative. 

Having  been  so  successful  in  previous  competi- 
tion, I  ventured  to  accept  an  invitation  to  compete 
for  a  Washington  Monument  to  be  erected  in  Phila- 
delphia. To  this  object  I  devoted  the  working 
hours  of  one  entire  season,  carefully  modelling  five 
figures,  one  third  life  size,  besides  busts  and  other 
accessories,  making  the  whole  model  ten  feet  high. 
But  the  commission  was  given  to  a  German  sculp- 
tor, who  sent  in  a  model  more  elaborate  and  much 
more  expensive  than  we  were  invited  to  make, — 
which  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  to  occur  in  com- 
petitions. But  more  about  this  monument  later; 
in  the  mean  time  it  has  remained  the  principal 
point  of  interest  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  my  studio, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  293 

the  "  Washington  Room."  I  will,  however,  here 
relate  a  curious  incident  in  connection  with  it.  I 
am  not  superstitious,  but  it  is  always  pleasant  to 
me  to  see  the  new  moon  for  the  first  time  over 
my  right  shoulder,  for  instance !  In  fact,  I  like  to 
believe  in  all  good  signs,  but  have  n't  the  slightest 
faith  in  bad  ones,  —  such  as  unlucky  days,  sitting 
down  to  dine  with  thirteen  at  table,  etc.  Breaking 
looking-glasses  might  almost  be  said  to  be  my  di- 
version, the  accident  occurring  so  frequently,  as  I 
like  to  have  mirrors,  large  and  small,  on  all  sides 
of  me  in  my  studio ;  I  find  them  my  most  faithful 
critics. 

Ever  since  I  made  my  equestrian  statue,  and 
before,  spiders  have  been  not  exactly  my  particular 
pets,  but  objects  of  special  interest  and  protec- 
tion. In  that  big  studio-barn  they  were  permitted 
to  spin  their  threads  and  weave  their  webs  among 
the  rafters  to  their  heart's  content,  without  molesta- 
tion. They  would  throw  their  cables  clear  across  the 
studio,  —  how  they  did  it  I  could  never  discover,  — 
occasionally  letting  down  a  rope,  with  themselves 
at  the  lower  end  of  it,  to  pay  me  a  visit  and  go 
leisurely  back  again,  taking  their  rope  with  them  ; 
till,  with  the  accumulation  of  dust  on  their  lines, 
the  upper  part  of  my  studio  looked  like  one  vast 
web  of  telegraph  wires.  I  had  become  so  accus- 
tomed to  their  visits  that  when  one  spun  down 


294  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

directly  on  my  work,  I  let  him  explore,  looking 
upon  it  as  a  good  omen  that  all  was  going  on 
right. 

Now  for  the  incident  I  started  to  relate.  This 
model  of  the  Washington  Monument  stands  in  the 
middle  of  a  large  room  twenty  feet  high,  leaving 
about  eight  feet  between  the  head  of  the  General  — 
who  stands  on  the  top  of  the  monument  —  and 
the  window  in  the  ceiling.  One  morning  I  dis- 
covered a  strong  spider-cable  let  down  from  the 
skylight  above  to  within  a  foot  of  George's  head, 
and,  what  is  strangest  of  all,  at  the  end  of  the  web 
an  American  postage-stamp  with  a  head  of  Wash- 
ington upon  it,  as  if  the  weaver  had  lowered  it 
down  the  better  to  compare  the  likeness.  You 
must  understand  that  no  human  being  could  have 
put  it  there  without  having  first  erected  a  staging, 
as  the  window  had  no  opening.  Now,  for  what 
purpose  had  the  spider  let  down  that  stamp  and 
left  it  hanging  there  ?  Where  he  got  it  is  easier  to 
divine ;  as  we  were  constantly  receiving  American 
letters,  and  often  tore  off  the  stamps  for  the  chil- 
dren or  the  servants.  It  was  pointed  out  to  visi- 
tors for  several  days,  when  it  disappeared  as  myste- 
riously as  it  came.  Now,  there  was  an  omen!  Of 
course  I  accepted  it  as  a  good  one.  We  shall  see. 

As  I  was  saying  before  I  branched  off  on  the 
spider  story,  I  lost  the  Washington  commission  for 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  295 

Philadelphia,  but,  a  few  weeks  after  my  return  to 
Florence,  received  a  letter  informing  me  that  the 
bronze  statue  of  Hon.  Josiah  Quincy  had  been 
awarded  to  me.  I  had  just  finished  the  model  of 
the  Charles  Sumner,  and  sent  it  to  Paris  to  be  cast 
by  the  celebrated  Barbedienne,  and  was  therefore 
free  to  begin  the  Quincy,  which,  when  done,  I 
decided  to  send  to  Munich,  where  my  former 
works  had  been  cast. 

I  must  here  mention  a  very  interesting  and  im- 
portant domestic  occurrence  that  took  place  a  year 
before  this,  in  1879,  —  no  less  than  the  marriage 
of  our  daughter,  our  once  little  golden-haired 
« Kitty."  We  still  call  her  "  Kit,"  although  her 
real  name  is  Eliza  Chickering  Couper. 

It  came  about  in  this  way.  Two  years  earlier 
there  came  along  a  young  Virginian  from  Munich, 
where  he  had  been  studying  drawing  in  the  Acad- 
emy. He  took  a  little  room  just  outside  of  the 
Porta  Roman  a,  and  began  modelling  by  himself, 
alone.  I  heard  of  him,  called  on  him,  and  saw 
the  first  thing  he  did,  —  a  medallion  he  called 
"Evening."  I  thought  to  myself,  "If  that  is 
his  first  work,  he  certainly  shows  remarkable  tal- 
ent." I  at  once  invited  him  to  come  to  my  studio 
and  occupy  a  little  room  recently  vacated  by  my 
former  pupil  Daniel  C.  French.  He  was  delighted 
to  accept  my  invitation,  and  speedily  made  himself 


296  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

most  agreeable,  both  upstairs  and  down ;  but  it 
seems  that  while  I  was  making  a  sculptor  of  him, 
he  was  making  love  to  my  daughter  directly  under 
my  nose,  and  I  was  so  oblivious  as  not  to  know 
anything  about  it  till  he  confessed  it  to  me  one 
day,  and  with  the  usual  impertinence  of  lovers, 
begged  to  be  rewarded  with  my  daughter's  hand. 
Well,  I  came  as  near  fainting  away  as  I  ever  did 
and  miss  it;  but  knowing  that  it  takes  two  to 
make  love  perfectly,  as  well  as  to  quarrel,  I  in- 
quired into  it  and  found  that  it  had  been  done  per- 
fectly ;  and  as  I  could  not  possibly  find  any  fault 
with  him,  and  as  my  daughter's  happiness  was  the 
leading  thought  of  my  life,  I  surrendered  gracefully, 
—  and  if  I  had  known  him  then  as  well  as  I  do  now, 
it  would  have  been  gratefully,  —  for  he  is  not  only 
a  kind  and  affectionate  husband,  son,  brother,  and 
father,  but  is  one  of  the  most  talented  and  refined 
sculptors  that  I  know.  And  he  has  his  match  in 
his  wife,  who  possesses  all  his  domestic  qualities 
and  is  an-  exquisite  musician.  Now,  that  is  n't  bad 
for  a  family  "  puff,"  and  it  does  n't  make  me  blush 
the  least  suspicion  of  a  shade ! 

They  were  now  (1879)  in  America,  —  her  first 
visit  to  his  family  in  Norfolk,  Virginia ;  they  had 
been  gone  three  months.  We  could  not  endure 
their  absence  any  longer,  and  decided  to  go  over  and 
fetch  them  back.  As  a  further  inducement  to  take 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  297 

this  journey,  I  was  desirous  to  see  three  of  my  last 
works  on  their  pedestals,  intending,  of  course,  to 
shirk  the  dedications,  or  two  of  them  at  least ;  the 
Sumner  having  been  unveiled  the  year  before.  So 
we  started  on  our  long  journey.  On  our  arrival  in 
Boston  I  found  that  the  pedestal  was  not  quite 
ready  for  the  placing  of  the  Lincoln  group ;  so  I 
escaped  that.  The  Quincy  was  the  only  one  now 
to  be  feared.  On  meeting  the  mayor,  Hon.  F.  0. 
Prince,  his  first  greeting  was,  "  Ah,  you  are  just  in 
time  to  do  the  presentation  at  the  unveiling  of  the 
Quincy !  "  I  at  once  begged  out  of  that ;  and  as  all 
my  letters  were  directed  to  Chickering  &  Sons,  I 
somehow  forgot  to  call  for  them  on  the  morning 
of  the  dedication,  so  that  I  did  not  get  my  invita- 
tion in  time.  But  after  it  was  all  over,  I  walked 
down  Washington  Street  and  looked  up  School 
Street  (where  the  statue  stands)  ;  then  I  walked 
up  Tremont  Street,  and  glanced  down  School 
Street.  The  next  day  I  walked  through  School 
Street,  and  looked  at  the  statue  as  indifferently 
as  the  rest  of  the  gazers.  And  so  I  got  out  of  it. 
It  was  a  mean  thing  to  do.  I  am  ashamed  of  it 
now  ;  but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  stand  on  that 
platform  and  face  the  multitude. 

We  met  our  children  in  Boston,  and  sailed  from 
there  a  few  days  after,  on  our  way  back  to  Flor- 
ence. But  I  must  not  forget  to  mention  that 


298  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

before  we  left,  Hon.  Moses  Kimball  gave  us  a 
magnificent  evening  reception  at  his  house,  which 
more  than  compensated  for  our  disappointment  in 
not  seeing  the  Lincoln  group  on  its  pedestal.  It 
will  be  remembered  that  this  group  was  a  present 
from  him  to  the  city  of  Boston.  Another  circum- 
stance —  which  I  remember,  but  would  gladly  f er- 
got—connected with  this  short  but  pleasant  visit 
of  one  month  to  my  home :  "  The  silver-tongued 
orator,"  Wendell  Phillips,  did  me  the  honor  to 
wish  I  "  would  go  to  heaven  soon  ; "  but  seeing  no 
prospect  of  it,  and  evidently  thinking  that  I  had 
received  altogether  too  many  honors  from  my 
native  city,  he  sent  me  away  with  his  exceedingly 
vulgar  tirade  against  me  and  the  Boston  statues 
ringing  in  my  ears,  —  as  if  I  had  made  them  all ! 
He  probably  thought  I  had.  But  the  funniest  thing 
about  it  is  that  ever  since,  when  any  one  wishes 
to  cast  a  slur  on  Boston  Art,  and  does  n't  dare  to 
trust  himself  or  his  own  judgment,  he  quotes  what 
"  Wendell  Phillips  said,"  precisely  as  if  he  were  an 
oracle,  —  which  prevents  me  from  forgetting  it, 
and  keeps  me  "  'umble." 

One  wise  man  lately  suggested  that  "  no  more 
statues  be  erected  in  Boston  for  the  next  twenty- 
five  years ;  and  then,  perhaps,  there  will  have  come 
up  a  sculptor  capable  of  making  them."  But  he 
evidently  forgets  that  without  another  Wendell 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  299 

Phillips  the  great  sculptor  would  not  be  recog- 
nized ;  and  it  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  two 
such  astute  and  refined  critics  should  appear  in 
the  same  century.  But  now  I  do  bethink  me 
that  another  twenty-five  years  will  bring  us  into 
another  century ;  so  there  is  still  hope  for  —  the 
critic.  Poor  Mr.  Phillips !  he  was  generally  scold- 
ing about  something.  But  he  did  scold  to  some 
purpose  for  the  poor  negroes,  for  which  I  should 
like  to  make  his  statue,  —  for  he  had  a  hand- 
some face, — and  I  would  not  bear  him  any  malice 
either. 


CHAPTER  XXXYI. 

EVERY  artist  knows  what  it  is  to  be  figuratively 
knocked  off  of  his  pedestal,  or  at  least  joggled,  — 
and  generally  when  he  thinks  he  is  the  most  firmly 
planted,  —  sometimes  from  a  push  behind  from  the 
abuse  or  senseless  ridicule  of  some  ignorant  would- 
be  critic,  but  oftener  from  a  self-inflicted  blow 
between  the  eyes. 

I  remember  one  day  comparing  notes  on  that 
subject  with  "  Bill "  Hunt.  I  asked  him  if  he 
knew  what  it  was  to  feel  sure  one  hour  that  he 
was  really  outdoing  himself,  only  to  discover  the 
next  that  vanity  had  been  leading  him  completely 
off  the  track. 

"  Don't  I  ? "  said  he.  "  As  sure  as  I  forget  my- 
self and  go  dashing  off  on  my  high  horse,  and  say 
to  myself,  i  Now  I  '11  show  them  what  I  can  do ! 
I  'm  going  to  give  them  fits  [he  used  a  stronger 
word]  this  time!'  —  first  thing  I  know,  I  get  a 
bat  side  of  the  head,  knocking  me  down  where 
I  belong,  and  taking  every  bit  of  conceit  out 
of  me.  But  I  go  on  more  safe  and  sure  after 
that." 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  301 

Surely  there  is  no  conviction  quite  so  humili- 
ating, but  salutary,  as  self-conviction. 

I  first  became  acquainted  with  William  Morris 
Hunt,  the  eminent  painter,  shortly  after  my  return 
from  my  first  visit  abroad.  We  both  occupied 
studios  on  the  upper  floor  of  the  Mercantile  Li- 
brary Building  in  Summer  Street.  Being  mutual 
admirers  of  each  other's  work,  we  became  warm 
friends.  Our  studios  were  open  to  each  other 
when  closed  to  everybody  else;  and  I  have  often 
regretted  that  we  could  not  have  been  oftener 
brought  together  in  after  years.  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  it  would  have  been  a  mutual  benefit 
in  more  ways  than  one ;  for  we  were  strangely 
drawn  together,  notwithstanding  our  totally  differ- 
ent temperaments,  —  each  lacking  what  the  other 
possessed  to  excess.  I  might  perhaps  have  ab- 
sorbed some  of  his  superfluous  electricity  and  dash, 
while  possibly  a  little  of  the  friction  of  my  over- 
cautious balance-wheel  or  "  drag  "  might  have  done 
him  no  harm. 

A  most  fascinating  talker,  —  his  conversation 
abounding  in  the  drollest  conceits,  exceedingly 
epigrammatic,  —  everything  he  said  had  a  meaning 
and  interest,  especially  when  relating  to  Art.  His 
expressions  were  strong,  sometimes  a  little  too 
emphatic,  but  always  to  the  point. 

A  well  developed,  intellectual  forehead,  which 


302  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

his  very  thin  but  handsome  face  set  off  to  advan- 
tage, and  a  figure  in  harmony  with  his  face  gave  one 
the  impression  of  a  very  nervous  and  imaginative 
temperament. 

A  friend,  pupil,  and  intense  admirer  of  Millet, 
the  peasant  artist,  he  was  naturally  imbued  with 
much  of  the  broad  manner  of  the  great  French- 
man, and  was  the  first  to  make  him  known  to 
Bostonians,  —  at  home,  at  least,  —  through  origi- 
nals, as  well  as  copies  of  his  master's  works. 

Hunt  was  generous,  warm-hearted,  impulsive,  and 
demonstrative.  Despising  cant  of  any  description, 
and  caring  little  for  fashion,  it  amused  him  occa- 
sionally to  shock  those  who  indulged  in  the  one  or 
too  closely  followed  the  other. 

He  was  a  capital  actor  and  an  irresistible  mimic. 
I  remember  a  semi-public  tableaux  exhibition  got- 
ten up  by  him  and  other  artist  friends  for  some 
charity,  —  I  forget  now  what,  —  in  which  he  took 
the  character  of  Don  Quixote.  His  nervous  fore- 
head over  his  "  lantern-jaws,"  and  his  slender  fig- 
ure encased  in  close-fitting  garments,  together  with 
his  irresistible  serio-comic  expression,  formed  the 
best  representation  of  the  gallant  "  crank  "  that  I 
ever  saw  in  sculpture  or  painting. 

I  remember  one  other  picture,  because  I  happened 
to  be  in  it.  Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe  appeared  as 
Lady  Macbeth  in  the  celebrated  sleep-walking  scene. 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  303 

I  had  the  honor  to  be  her  family  physician,  and 
was  so  strongly  impressed  by  the  intensely  real 
expression  of  her  face  and  attitude  as  to  be  al- 
most tempted  to  interrupt  the  scene,  by  advising 
her  —  from  my  own  early  experience  —  to  grasp 
the  horrid  thing  and  wake  herself.  But  the  next 
moment  the  curtain  dropped,  and  she  awoke 
smiling  as  sweetly  as  if  from  an  interview  with 
whispering  angels.  There  were  many  other  beau- 
tiful pictures  and  beautiful  women,  making  the 
entertainment  a  great  success  artistically  and 
financially. 

Everybody  who  knew  William  M.  Hunt  will 
remember  the  little  soft  felt  hat,  turned  up  all 
round,  that  he  was  so  fond  of  wearing.  We  were 
coming  in  from  Roxbury  one  night  in  the  omnibus, 
and,  it  being  late,  were  the  only  passengers.  As 
he  settled  himself  in  the  corner,  I  remarked  how 
becoming  this  hat  was  to  his  long  beard.  It  was 
off  in  a  moment,  and  tossed  over  to  me  to  try  on. 
I  found  it  fitted  me  to  a  hair,  and  he  returned  the 
compliment  to  my  long  beard.  A  day  or  two  be- 
fore I  was  to  sail  on  my  return  to  Europe,  I  re- 
ceived a  new  hat  made  on  his  own  private  block, 
with  his  card  and  best  wishes  for  a  pleasant  voyage. 
I  acknowledged  it  in  rhyme,  as  I  am  fond  of  doing. 
As  he  thought  it  rather  clever,  —  for  me,  —  I  will 
give  it  to  you. 


304  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

Of  old,  at  a  friend  who  was  leaving  they  threw, 

On  his  journey  to  bring  him  good  luck,  an  old  shoe ; 

But  you,  in  the,  warmth  of  your  friendship,  would  seem 

To  have  gone  with  a  bound  to  the  other  extreme, 

And  with  a  new  hat  your  friend's  head  you  would  pelt, 

Just  to  prove  your  professions  are  really  felt. 

May  fortune  with  smiles,  in  defiance  of  fate, 

Ever  rain  such  soft  things  on  your  precious  old  pate; 

And  should  this,  your  gift,  from  my  own  head  be  torn, 

On  the  wings  of  the  rushing  wind  ruthlessly  borne, 

My  feelings  of  mortification  I  '11  smother, 

And  let  this  my  motto  be,  "  Hunt  for  another!  " 

1865. 

The  next  time  I  crossed  the  Atlantic,  Boston- 
bound,  in  1868,  we  were  fellow-passengers.  He 
was  as  enthusiastic  as  ever,  this  time  with  the 
idea  of  going  home  to  establish  a  class  for  the 
instruction  of  young  ladies  in  Art.  He  thought 
there  was  a  vast  deal  of  talent  among  them  that 
only  required  to  be  directed.  Being  confident  of 
his  faculty  for  imparting  his  knowledge,  he  con- 
sidered it  his  duty,  and  that  of  every  artist,  to  do 
all  he  could  to  lighten  the  path  of  those  groping 
in  the  dark.  The  success  of  his  enterprise  may  be 
estimated  by  the  scores  of  lady-artists  in  Boston 
to-day  who  are  never  tired  of  singing  his  praises 
as  artist,  teacher,  and  friend. 

When  I  returned  again  to  Boston  in  1873,  I 
made  a  business  of  disposing  of  all  my  studio- 
belongings, —  souvenirs  of  my  old  painting  days. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  305 

I  invited  Hunt  to  meet  me  at  Mr.  Turner  Sargent's 
stable  on  Beacon  Street,  where  the  things  had  been 
stored  for  the  last  five  years,  to  see  if  there  were 
anything  he  would  like  to  carry  away.  He  came, 
and  I  told  him  to  take  whatever  he  wanted.  The 
first  things  he  settled  upon  were  my  carpeted 
throne  upon  which  I  used  to  mount  my  sitters, 
and  my  eight-foot  easel,  —  the  very  things  I  had 
been  wondering  what  under  the  sun  I  should  do 
with.  He  called  an  express-wagon,  and  loaded  it 
with  these,  some  canvases,  and  other  articles, 
and  finally  mounted  to  the  seat  with  the  driver,  — 
the  moral  courage  of  the  man !  —  and  so  drove  up 
the  whole  length  of  aristocratic  Beacon  Street,  on 
the  way  to  his  studio.  I  think  it  would  have  de- 
lighted him  to  meet  some  of  his  very  fashion- 
able lady  friends,  and  take  off  his  hat  to  them, 
from  the  top  of  a  furniture  wagon,  —  a  boyish  joke 
too  good  to  be  lost !  He  evidently  enjoyed  smiling, 
down  from  high  places. 

A  friend  once  called  upon  him  while  he  was 
painting  his  great  fresco  on  the  ceiling  of  the 
Albany  City  Hall.  It  happened  to  be  Hunt's  noon 
hour  of  recreation,  when  his  friend,  on  entering 
and  hearing  music  in  the  air,  discovered  the  artist, 
thirty  feet  or  more  above,  seated  on  a  plank,  with 
his  long  legs  swinging  off,  playing  a  guitar,  —  for 
he,  too,  was  musical. 

20 


306  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN. 

Now,  some  may  see  in  the  above  anecdotes 
very  undignified  behavior  for  a  great  artist;  but 
to  me  that  boyish  vein  in  his  disposition  was 
very  charming. 

When  I  returned  again  in  1883,  he  had  departed 
on  his  "  long  journey."  And  I  can  only  repeat  my 
words  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter,  —  I  regret 
that  we  could  not  have  seen  more  of  each  other  in 
all  those  years,  for  our  mutual  benefit. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

WHEN  I  got  back  to  Florence,  after  having  been 
so  severely  "  joggled,"  I  modelled  a  small  histor- 
ical group  of  Thomas  Jefferson  submitting  to  John 
Adams  the  first  draft  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. After  this  I  made  a  sketch  model  of 
Christ  with  a  little  child,  which  the  next  season  I 
modelled  of  heroic  size,  and  when  finished,  invited 
the  great  Italian  sculptor,  Giovanni  Dupre*,  to  see. 
He  very  kindly  came  to  my  studio,  and  compli- 
mented me  highly  on  my  success  in  so  great  a 
work.  But  when  I  begged  he  would  criticise  it, 
and  tell  me  frankly  what  I  might  do  to  improve 
it,  he  answered  that  he  thought  the  drapery  of 
the  Christ  would  be  improved  if  I  removed  some 
of  the  folds,  making  it  more  simple.  I  agreed  with 
him ;  and  as  soon  as  he  had  gone,  I  locked  my 
door,  and  although  I  had  thought  my  work  was 
done,  stripped  the  whole  front  of  the  figure  of  its 
drapery  and  modelled  it  all  over  again.  When  the 
change  was  made,  I  took  a  large  photograph  of  it 
to  Dupre*,  and  thanked  him  for  his  criticism.  He 
seemed  surprised  that  I  had  acted  upon  it  so 


308  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN. 

promptly,  praised  the  group  very  highly,  and  asked 
me  to  put  my  autograph  on  the  picture.  While  I 
was  writing  it,  he  brought  out  a  photograph  of  his 
own  last  work,  "  San  Raimondo  Lullo,"  and  asked 
me  to  accept  it.  I  found  he  had  written  under  it, 
"Air  Egregio  Scultore  Tommaso  Ball.  G.  Dupre'. 
1881,"  — word  for  word,  what  I  had  written  in  my 
own  language  under  mine,  of  Giovanni  Dupre. 

That  was  the  last  time  I  saw  the  great  sculptor 
alive.  He  was  stricken  down  a  month  or  two  after, 
and  in  a  few  days  was  dead.  The  funeral  obsequies 
could  hardly  have  been  more  imposing  and  grand 
if  he  had  been  a  prince  of  royal  blood.  All  the 
artists  and  other  celebrated  men  of  Florence  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  grave,  to  the  funeral  music  of 
two  or  more  military  bands  playing  alternately. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  funeral  worthy  of  a  Michael 
Angelo. 

Speaking  of  Michael  Angelo,  —  to  go  from  the 
serious  to  the  gay,  —  reminds  me  of  a  very  funny 
mistake  made  by  one  of  my  visitors  ;  showing  how 
great  names  will  cling  or  be  recalled -to  our  mem- 
ories when  we  cannot  always  remember  exactly 
how  to  place  them. 

Upon  being  called  out  one  day  from  my  work,  I 
found  a  tall,  determined-looking  individual  with  a 
pleasant  and  meek-appearing  lady.  He  was  strid- 
ing about  the  statue  gallery,  with  his  hat  pushed 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  309 

on  to  the  back  of  his  head,  mopping  his  forehead 
vigorously  with  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and  look- 
ing round  the  room,  over  the  heads  of  the  statues, 
as  if  he  had  already  seen  them  and  was  ready  for 
something  else.  "  Good-morning ! "  he  jerked  out. 
"  We  have  n't  much  time  to  waste ;  we  're  just  look- 
ing round  a  bit  among  the  studios  to  see  how  prices 
range.  What  do  you  ask  for  that  ?  "  and  imme- 
diately dove  into  the  next  room.  "  Come,  my  dear, 
we  can't  stop  long,  you  know.  How  much  is  that? 
Seems  to  me  you're  pretty  stiff  in  your  prices. 
They  sell  the  real  Carrary  marble  statues,  over  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Arno,  for  about  a  quarter  part 
as  much  as  you  charge,  and  they  look  pooty  well, 
too,  I  tell  you.  Well,  we  must  be  off ;  I  'm  much 
obliged  to  you.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  us  where 's 
a  pleasant  drive  to  take.  We've  been  to  all  the 
studios  round  here." 

I  told  him  he  could  not  possibly  do  better  than 
continue  up  from  my  gate,  and  follow  along  the 
Viale  as  it  winds  up  to  the  Piazza  Michelangiolo. 

"  Michael  Angelo  ? "  —  he  seized  upon  that  name, 
—  "  is  his  studio  out  here  ?  We  must  call  on  him, 
my  dear,  at  any  rate  !  " 

I  told  him  his  studio  was  not  out  here,  but  his 
monument  was,  and  was  well  worth  seeing.  An 
expression  of  disappointment  came  over  his  face, 
mingled  with  relief  that  he  had  not  that  to  do. 


310  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

My  next  work,  in  1882,  was  an  equestrian  group 
of  "  Paul  Kevere's  Kide,"  one  third  life  size,  and 
representing  him  on  the  road,  urging  his  horse  to 
his  utmost  speed,  and  alarming  the  people,  as  he 
passed,  that  the  British  were  coming  to  seize  the 
Yankee  powder. 

I  now,  in  1883,  thought  it  expedient  to  make 
another  visit  to  America,  and  for  the  first  time 
crossed  the  Atlantic  alone.  I  took  a  studio  in 
Boston  for  three  months,  and  modelled  busts  of 
the  late  Hon.  Marshall  Jewell,  and  of  Hon.  P.  T. 
Barnum,  who  came  from  his  home  in  Bridgeport 
every  day,  notwithstanding  the  long  distance  and 
the  oppressive  heat.  But  the  great  showman  was 
equal  to  the  occasion,  and  appeared  each  day  as 
fresh  and  jovial  as  a  boy.  He  certainly  had  an  in- 
centive to  make  the  effort,  having  been  invited  to 
place  his  bust  in  Tufts  College,  and  had  also  had 
an  intimation  of  a  desire  on  the  part  of  his  business 
partners  that  he  should  sit  to  me  for  a  statue,  while 
he  was  about  it,  at  their  expense,  as  they  wished  to 
express  in  that  way  their  esteem,  admiration,  and 
gratitude  for  the  unparalleled  financial  success  at- 
tending the  "  greatest  show  on  earth,"  through  the 
influence  of  his  peculiar  genius.  This  was  natu- 
rally very  gratifying  to  a  man  like  him,  or  any 
other  man.  In  accepting  this  compliment,  he  only 
stipulated  that  the  statue  should  not  be  erected 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  311 

or  publicly  seen  till  he  had  passed  away.  I  fin- 
ished the  bust  from  life,  which  I  took  back  with 
me,  together  with  measurements  and  photographs 
of  his  figure  for  future  use. 

While  I  was  in  Boston,  a  committee  of  the  Bos- 
ton Memorial  Society  met  me  to  decide  upon  the 
subject  for  an  heroic  statue  which  I  had  some 
time  before  offered  to  model  for  them  gratis,  pro- 
vided they  would  pay  for  the  casting  in  bronze. 
They  finally  decided  to  have  a  portrait  of  William 
Blackstone,  or  Blaxton,  the  first  white  inhabitant 
of  Boston.  Upon  my  return  to  Florence  I  made 
two  different  study  models ;  but  the  statue  has 
never  been  made,  for  the  want  of  the  necessary 
funds  to  pay  for  the  casting. 

I  also  modelled  a  new  statue,  in  small,  of  Lin- 
coln, and  one  of  Garfield.  These,  together  with 
portrait  busts  (General  Grant  among  them)  and 
ideal  medallions  ("  Whispering  Zephyr,"  "  Ophelia," 
etc.),  occupied  my  time  till  January,  1885,  when  I 
received  a  commission  from  B.  P.  Cheney,  Esq.,  of 
Boston,  for  a  statue  of  Daniel  Webster,  of  a  new 
design,  to  be  presented  by  him  to  the  city  of  Con- 
cord, New  Hampshire.  This  statue  (also  cast  in 
Munich)  was  inaugurated  June  17,  1886. 

After  sending  the  model  to  the  foundry,  I  began 
in  the  autumn  my  statue  of  the  youthful  David, 
which  I  worked  upon  nearly  all  the  winter  of  1885- 


312  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

1886.  Oh !  I  must  tell  you  a  good  story  of  an 
English  visitor  this  time. 

We  all  know  that  an  Englishman  is  slow  at  tak- 
ing a  joke,  although  he  does  take  it  eventually  ;  but 
this  man  did  not  lower  his  dignity  to  anything  so 
frivolous.  He  looked  at  everything  very  critically 
and  intelligently;  it  was  a  serious  matter  with 
him,  —  no  joking,  if  you  please.  I  took  him  into 
my  private  modelling-room,  where  I  was  then 
working  on  my  David. 

"  Ah !  what  have  we  here,  may  I  ask  ? " 

"  That  is  the  young  David,  about  to  throw  the 
stone." 

"  But,  sir,  have  you  the  timerity  to  make  a 
David,  after  Michael  Angelo  ?  " 

Now,  I  thought  he  was  joking.  There 's  the 
difference  between  a  Yankee  and  an  Englishman ; 
the  former  thinks  the  other  jokes  when  he  does  n't, 
and  the  latter  thinks  the  other  doesn't  when  he 
does.  I,  being  a  Yankee,  saw  a  joke  in  his  ques- 
tion, and  answered  him,  as  I  thought,  in  a  similar 
vein. 

"  But  my  David  is  entirely  different  from  Michael 
Angelo's ;  his  was  a  very  clever  statue  for  his 
time." 

He  looked  at  me.  "  Sir,  you  astound  me  ;  your 
remark  reminds  me  of  one  made  to  me  by  a  fellow- 
countryman  of  yours  in  the  gallery  the  other  day. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  313 

He  was  making  a  copy  of  one  of  Titian's  pictures. 
I  ventured  to  remark  that  I  thought  he  had  not 
got  Titian's  color  exactly.  *  No,'  said  he,  c  I  am 
not  quite  satisfied  with  Titian's  color ;  I  intend  to 
improve  upon  it.'  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"Why,  you  surely  did  not  take  his  remark 
seriously,  did  you  ? " 

"  I  certainly  did." 

"  Well,  really,  I  hope  you  did  not  think  I  meant 
what  I  said  in  regard  to  the  David !  " 

"  I  must  say  I  did,  sir." 

"  Then  I  must  apologize  for  joking,  and  hasten 
to  assure  you  that  I  consider  Michael  Angelo's 
David  one  of  the  very  greatest  statues  of  modern 
times  ;  and  there  are  precious  few  among  the  best 
Greek  works  that  can  compare  with  it." 

This  seemed  to  mollify  his  disgust  somewhat, 
and  enabled  him  to  see  some  good  points  in  my 
work. 

It  strikes  me  at  this  moment  as  a  little  singular 
that  both  of  these  amusing  visitors,  or  the  funny 
point  in  their  visits,  should  hinge  upon  Michael 
Angelo. 

If  I  may  be  permitted,  I  will  add  one  more 
amusing  incident  in  connection  with  this  statue. 
You  may  infer  from  it  that  our  male  models 
are  not  strictly  models  of  honesty ;  but  there 
are  exceptions  to  all  rules.  One  of  the  best 


314  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

models  I  had  for  this  figure  was  a  boy  about  seven- 
teen or  eighteen  years  of  age,  —  a  very  good  figure, 
a  good  model,  and  always  prompt.  But  one  day 
he  did  not  appear,  and  upon  inquiring  among  the 
workmen,  I  learned  that  he  had  been  arrested  for 
stealing  money  from  some  other  studio  where  he 
was  employed.  I  therefore  engaged  another  model, 
—  one  who  had  stood  for  several  Davids  before, 
and  knew  all  about  David,  from  the  slinging  of  the 
stone  to  the  cutting  off  of  Goliath's  head. 

Not  long  after  the  disappearance  of  my  first 
model,  I  received  a  summons  to  appear  before  the 
Tribunal  to  testify  to  something  in  regard  to  him. 
You  never  know,  when  you  are  summoned  to  ap- 
pear in  an  Italian  court,  which  side  you  are  expected 
to  favor,  until  your  turn  comes  to  be  called  from  an 
anteroom  to  testify.  When  I  was  called  in,  I  was 
given  the  Testament  to  place  my  right  hand  upon, 
and  swear  to  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and 
nothing  less  (niente  di  meno).  I  made  a  mistake 
at  the  start,  which  caused  me  intense  mortification. 
In  my  embarrassment  at  a  proceeding  so  new  to 
me,  I  placed  my  gloved  hand  upon  the  book,  and 
was  called  to  order  before  the  whole  court,  who 
must  have  thought  me  a  heathen.  It  is  safe  to  say 
that  I  never  removed  a  glove  with  less  loitering  in 
my  life.  After  having  taken  the  oath  and  answered 
the  usual  preliminary  questions  as  to  my  name, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  315 

age,  place  of  birth,  my  father's  name,  my  profession, 
and  present  abode,  I  was  next  asked,  by  the  judge 
or  attorney,  if  I  knew  the  prisoner.  I  then  turned, 
and  recognizing  my  David,  answered  accordingly. 

"  Did  you  ever  employ  him  as  a  model  ? " 

"Yes." 

«  Many  times  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Did  you  ever  leave  him  alone  in  your  studio  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  once  I  was  called  away,  and  he  waited 
an  hour  alone  in  my  studio." 

"  Did  you  miss  anything  after  he  had  gone  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Perhaps  there  was  nothing  to  tempt  him  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not  "  (with  a  smile). 

"  No  money,  I  mean." 

«  No." 

"  How  much  did  you  usually  pay  him  ?  " 

"  A  franc  and  a  half  an  hour." 

At  this  juncture  up  jumps  the  prisoner  (I  think 
he  was  seated  before).  "  There  !  did  n't  I  tell  you 
so  ?  and  you  would  n't  believe  me." 

He  was  called  to  order,  and  I  was  then  dismissed. 
It  seemed  that  I  had  been  called  to  corroborate  his 
most  doubtful  statement  in  regard  to  the  price  I 
paid  him  for  his  services.  It  was  evidently  thought 
that  such  a  princely  income  as  that  precluded  the 
possibility  of  his  being  tempted  to  steal  from  any- 


316  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

body,  as  I  heard  afterward  that  he  was  acquitted. 
I  have  never  seen  him  since.  I  do  not  believe  the 
boy  would  have  stolen  anything  from  me,  for  he 
often  had  the  opportunity.  This  statue  of  David 
—  originally  modelled  three  quarters  life  size  —  I 
am  now  putting  in  marble,  full  life  size,  for  Edward 
F.  Searles,  Esq.,  to  go  into  the  magnificent  palace 
he  is  building  at  Great  Harrington,  Massachusetts. 
I  promised  you  something  more  about  the  Wash- 
ington Monument.  Mr.  Searles  came  to  my  studio 
with  his  wife,  entire  strangers  to  me,  and,  as  he 
has  told  me  since,  with  no  intention  of  buying 
anything;  but  being  pleased  with  what  he  saw, 
before  he  left  he  had  commissioned  me  to  put  my 
David  in  marble,  full  life  size,  besides  giving  me 
several  other  smaller  orders.  As  he  went  through 
the  room  where  the  Washington  stood,  he  was 
strongly  attracted  by  it;  asked  about  its  history, 
for  what  it  was  made,  how  much  I  was  to  have 
received  for  the  large  monument  if  my  model  had 
been  accepted,  etc.,  —  all  of  which  questions  I  an- 
swered, and  told  him  the  curious  incident  of  the 
spider  and  the  postage-stamp.  As  he  was  going 
out  of  the  gate,  he  said,  "  It 's  a  great  pity  the 
Washington  cannot  be  erected  somewhere  while 
you  are  living."  I  told  him  I  did  not  expect  it 
now.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  know  where  I  would 
like  to  see  it.  I  '11  see  how  my  money  holds  out." 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  317 

Was  the  spider  beginning  to  weave  his  spell  ?  No ; 
I  had  not  the  remotest  idea  this  remark  meant 
anything  more  than  a  little  pleasantry  on  the  part 
of  my  new  patron.  He  came  to  Florence  again 
the  next  season,  and  out  to  the  studio  to  see  how 
his  work  was  coming  on.  As  he  passed  through 
the  Washington  room,  he  stopped  and  again  exam- 
ined the  monument  with  much  interest,  remarking 
that  it  ought  to  be  the  crowning  work  of  my  life. 
As  I  mentioned  that  I  thought  of  going  to  America 
the  coming  spring,  he  invited  me  to  visit  him  at  his 
house  in  Methuen,  and  he  would  show  me  where 
he  wanted  to  put  my  Washington  Monument. 

Still  joking  about  the  Washington ! 

I  now  (autumn  of  1886)  turned  my  thoughts  in 
earnest  to  the  big  statue  of  P.  T.  Barnum,  working 
on  it  through  the  winter  of  1886-1887.  I  finished 
the  model  about  the  1st  of  May,  1887,  and  sent  it 
to  the  foundry  at  Munich  in  the  autumn.  When 
the  bronze  was  completed,  it  was  exhibited  by  the 
Miillers  in  the  International  Exhibition  at  Munich, 
in  the  summer  of  1888,  where  it  received  a  first- 
class  medal.  A  week  or  two  after  the  bronze 
arrived  in  America,  I  received  the  following  char- 
acteristic letter  from  Mr.  Barnum:  — 

NEW  YORK,  Feb.  8,  1889. 

DEAR  MR.  BALL,  —  My  partners  have  not  yet  been 
able  to  get  together  to  examine  the  statue.  But  Mr. 


318  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

J.  A.  Bailey  and  my  late  partners  —  Mr.  J.  A.  Hutchin- 
son,  Cole,  and  Cooper  —  have  arranged  to  do  so  next 
Wednesday,  13th  inst.  I  have  partly  agreed  to  go  with 
them,  although  I  never  expected  to  see  it.  My  wife, 
my  eldest  daughter,  and  other  members  of  my  family 
are  to  go  and  take  a  look  at  it  at  the  same  time  ;  and 
then  I  trust  it  will  not  see  the  light  again  for  several 
years  after  my  decease.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  my  part- 
ners will  have  loaded  my  executors  and  familj-  with  a 
sort  of  white  elephant ;  though  I  have  no  doubt,  from 
what  I  have  heard,  it  is  a  good  likeness  and  a  splendid 
work  of  art.  Of  course  I  appreciate  the  compliment 
my  partners  pay  me  in  its  presentation ;  but  the  ques- 
tion is,  what  can  be  done  with  a  large  bronze  statue  of 
a  Showman  ?  Perhaps  my  posterity  and  the  public  will 
wisely  conclude  to  bury  it.  In  any  event,  I  thank  you 
for  turning  out  such  a  creditable  specimen  of  your  art, 
and  for  the  many  expressions  of  your  good-will,  which 
I  heartily  reciprocate,  and  in  which  my  wife  as  heartily 
joins  me.  Hoping  that  you  are  as  perfectly  healthy  and 
happy  as  I  am, 

Believe  me  cordially  your  friend, 

P.  T.  BARNUM. 

He  wrote  me  again  immediately  after  having 
seen  the  statue,  in  the  following  hearty  and  com- 
plimentary strain:  — 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  My  present  partner,  Mr.  J.  A. 
Bailey,  and  my  late  partner,  J.  C.  Hutchinson,  took  me 
to  see  the  statue  of  myself  in  bronze,  which  you  exe- 
cuted for  them.  My  wife  accompanied  me,  also  my 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN.  319 

eldest  daughter,  three  of  my  grandchildren,  two  of  my 
late  partners  in  business,  one  of  my  executors,  my 
principal  treasurer  and  business  representative  (Mr. 
Bowser),  of  Bridgeport,  and  two  gentlemen  friends. 
We  one  and  all  declared  it  to  be  the  best  executed  statue 
and  the  most  perfect  likeness  we  ever  before  saw.  All 
were  delighted  with  it.  The  donors  handed  it  over  to 
my  family  and  executors,  and  then  ordered  it  to  be  in- 
sured and  kept  in  the  fire-proof  warehouse  till  called 
for.  I  asked  them  to  have  the  case  containing  it 
securely  fastened,  and  never  opened  again  till  I  am 
"mouldering  in  the  grave." 

Really,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were  attending  my 
own  funeral.  Yet  I  was  truly  pleased  with  your  won- 
derful success  in  producing  such  afac-simile  of  myself. 
I  have  no  idea  where  it  will  ever  be  erected.  That 
concerns  my  posterity  more  than  myself;  so  I  leave  it 
to  them.1 

Very  truly  yours, 

PHINEAS  T.  BARNUM. 
1  The  italics  in  the  above  are  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

IT  now  seemed  to  me  that  I  had  earned  my 
summer  vacation;  and  as  the  past  year  had  been 
one  of  extreme  anxiety  on  account  of  the  severe 
and  dangerous  illness  of  my  wife,  as  she  was  now 
convalescing,  and  as  my  seventieth  birthday  was 
approaching,  which  I  had  a  great  desire  of  passing 
in  the  land  of  my  birth,  —  thinking  also  that  the 
ocean  voyage  over  and  back  would  be  of  great 
benefit  to  us  both, — I  decided  to  make  another  visit 
to  America,  this  time  for  rest  and  recreation. 

I  had  resolved  not  to  do  a  hand's  turn  of  work ; 
and  not  expecting  any  new  commissions,  I  devoted 
myself  entirely  to  my  friends,  who  never  met  me 
with  a  warmer  welcome  than  now.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  as  if  they  had  combined  and  laid  out  a 
programme,  but  one  that  would  have  occupied  more 
time  than  we  had  at  our  disposal,  and  demanded 
much  more  strength  than  Mrs.  Ball  could  com- 
mand. As  for  me,  it  was  one  whirl  of  wild  but 
innocent  dissipation,  from  the  time  we  landed  till 
the  day  we  sailed  on  our  return.  I  don't  know 
what  it  would  have  been  if  my  wife  had  been  able 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND  TEN.  321 

to  participate  in  it  all,  for  she  to  her  friends  was 
as  one  recalled  from  the  dead. 

Let  me  here  mention  that  from  the  day  we 
arrived,  the  first  question  —  or  rather,  assertion  — 
that  was  fired  at  me  by  each  one  I  met  was, 
"You  are  going  to  the  great  costume-ball  that's 
coming  off  in  a  few  days  ? "  My  invariable  an- 
swer was,  "  No ;  although  I  should  like  above  all 
things  to  see  this  grand  pageant.  But  I  under- 
stand that  absolutely  no  one  is  to  be  admitted 
except  in  ideal  or  historical  costume  submitted  to 
and  approved  by  Mr.  Gougengigl,  the  eminent 
artist,  —  which  is  quite  right,  in  order  to  insure 
perfect  success;  and  I  cannot  think  of  going  in 
costume."  But  three  days  before  it  was  to  come 
off,  when  another  friend  attacked  me,  I  only 
thought  it  necessary  to  say  that  it  was  now  too 
late,  as  there  was  not  another  ticket  to  be  had  for 
love  or  money,  —  which  I  heard  was  really  the 
case.  He  left  me,  and  the  next  day  I  received 
a  bundle  and  a  note  from  his  wife,  —  the  bundle 
containing  a  beautiful  white  costume  of  the  monks 
of  Certosa,  and  the  note  enclosing  a  ticket  to  the 
ball.  Where  or  how  she  got  it,  I  know  not.  The 
costume,  she  informed  me,  had  already  been  ap- 
proved, and  I  had  only  to  get  into  it  and  go,  as 
she,  her  husband,  and  two  little  boys  intended  to 

do,  —  the  two  latter  as  pages,  —  and  I  could  go 

21 


322  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

under  her  protection.  What  could  I  do  after  that 
but  accept  and  go?  I  could  not  have  chosen  a 
more  simple  and  dignified  dress,  or  one  that  would 
remind  me  more  pleasantly  of  "  La  bella  Firenze,'' 
and  of  my  neighbors  at  Certosa. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  ball  I  received  another 
pleasant  greeting  from  my  old  friend  B.  J.  Lang, 
the  eminent  musician,  and  director  of  the  Apollo 
Club.  He  wrote  me  that  the  members  of  the  Club 
were  going  in  a  body  to  the  ball  as  Pilgrims,  and 
hearing  that  I  was  to  appear  as  a  monk,  would  I 
please  march  with  them  in  the  procession)  and  join 
with  them  in  the  "  Pilgrims'  Chorus  "  from  "  Tann- 
hauser  "  ?  Now,  that  was  particularly  delightful  to 
me,  —  both  the  compliment  and  the  real  pleasure  of 
singing  with  them.  This  grand  ball  —  if  it  can  be 
called  a  ball  where  there  was  no  dancing  —  came 
off  at  the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  on  the  evening  of 
April  26.  When  I  arrived,  after  much  tribula- 
tion, —  for  it  poured  "  great  guns  "  all  the  evening, 
and  to  use  an  Irish  expression,  it  took  an  hour  for 
my  carriage  to  get  there  after  I  arrived,  —  I  found 
the  Apollos  assembled  in  one  of  the  rooms,  waiting 
for  the  procession  to  form.  They  were  all  in  sober 
gray  robes,  as  became  their  order ;  and  I,  being  the 
only  white  dove  in  the  flock,  was  taken  under  the 
protecting  wing  of  the  genial  Secretary,  Mr.  Arthur 
Read.  Finally,  the  Heralds  trumpeted  the  signal  to 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  323 

move.  When  well  under  way,  we  poured  forth  the 
"Pilgrims'  Chorus"  with  fine  effect.  But  when, 
after  marching  the  round  of  the  halls,  the  chorus 
was  repeated,  the  throng  had  become  so  great  that 
we,  who  had  started  in  a  body  five  or  six  abreast, 
became  stretched  out  into  almost  single  file,  so 
that  one  end  of  the  string  could  n't  hear  what  the 
other  was  driving  at.  The  consequence  was  that  we 
gradually  and  ignominiously  faded  out,  much  to 
the  amusement  of  the  kings  and  queens,  lords  and 
ladies,  poets  and  philosophers,  who  had  really  been 
the  cause  of  the  fiasco.  In  fact,  I  firmly  believe 
they  really  enjoyed  it  more  than  they  did  the  first 
performance.  Now  that  I  had  become  separated 
from  my  brother  Pilgrims,  and  the  whole  gorgeous 
procession  stirred  into  one  slowly  moving  mass,  in 
vain  I  tried  to  study  the  individual  items  that  com- 
posed it.  I  could  only  see  one  vast  kaleidoscopic 
effect  of  color.  It  seemed  to  me,  though,  that  I 
had  never  seen  so  many  fine-looking  men  and 
women  together  before.  Can  it  bo  possible  that 
this  was  partly  owing  to  their  costumes  ?  With  tho 
men,  perhaps,  yes,  but  not  the  women.  There  is  one 
now  whose  majestic  loveliness  —  But  I  am  not  go- 
ing to  attempt  to  describe  this  enchanting  scene. 
Were  there  not  men  there  who  were  paid,  and 
whose  business  it  was  '  to  describe  it,  and  who 
utterly  failed  ?  But  I  will  say  that  what  left  one 


324  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

of  the  most  pleasant  and  enduring  impressions  on 
my  mind  were  the  score  or  more  of  Greek  maidens 
and  Fra  Angelico's  Angels, — the  latter  looking  as  if 
they  had  just  stepped  out  (as  the  phrase  goes)  of 
the  picture  in  the  Gallery  of  the  Uffizi.  I  saw 
them  again,  when  the  crowd  had  become  too  dense 
to  be  able  to  move  about  comfortably,  slowly  wend- 
ing and  winding  their  way,  with  their  golden  wings 
unshipped  and  carried  under  their  arms,  looking,  if 
possible,  more  angelic  than  ever ;  and  I  wondered 
if  the  celestial  angels  carried  theirs  in  that  way 
when  not  in  active  use,  —  for  I  don't  imagine  they 
are  always  on  the  wing.  All  these  maidens,  I 
understood,  were  students  in  the  Art  School  con- 
nected with  the  Museum. 

I  had  been  looking  in  vain  all  the  evening  for 
my  chaperone,  not  having  seen  her  since  we  en- 
tered the  halls ;  but  I  managed  to  get  home  safely, 
wondering  all  the  way  how  the  women  were  able  so 
gracefully  to  get  up  and  down  stairs,  —  up  especially, 
with  their  long  skirts,  while  I  had  nearly  broken  my 
neck  several  times  trying  to  do  the  same  thing. 
My  dreams  that  night  were  all  about  angels'  wings 
and  Greek  maidens. 

By  the  way,  this  Art  Museum  is  exerting  a  very 
noble  and  desirable  influence  in  the  community; 
not  only  instructing  the  chosen  few  in  the  de- 
velopment of  their  talents,  but  teaching  the  thou- 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  325 

sands,  by  bringing  Art  before  them,  to  appreciate 
it  in  all  its  various  branches.  Such  institutions 
cannot  but  have  a  refining  and  humanizing  effect. 
And  now  I  believe  there  is  hardly  a  large  city  in 
the  Union  without  its  public  Art  Gallery  or  Mu- 
seum; and  the  conviction  of  their  importance  is 
gradually  spreading  throughout  the  country. 

I  was  one  day  conducted  through  the  schools 
connected  with  our  Art  Museum,  and  was  very 
much  impressed  with  what  I  saw.  In  one  room, 
and  indeed  throughout  the  Sculpture  gallery,  the 
students  were  drawing  diligently  from  casts.  En- 
tering another,  I  was  brought  face  to  face  with  per- 
haps fifty  young  ladies,  all  working  away  for  dear 
life,  drawing  and  designing  patterns  for  wall- 
paper, carpets,  tapestries,  embroideries,  etc.,  as  well 
as  for  architectural  decorations.  I  was  naturally 
too  much  embarrassed  to  attempt  to  recognize  my 
Greek  maidens  and  angels;  but  I  have  no  doubt 
they  were  there,  or  in  some  of  the  other  rooms. 
Leaving  this  room,  I  was  conducted  into  the  next, 
where  a  like  number  of  young  girls  were  drawing 
from  a  life  model ;  and  into  still  another  that  was 
crowded  with  easels  almost  touching  one  another, 
before  each  of  which  sat  an  earnest  damsel  paint- 
ing in  oils  from  a  life  model,  and  doing  some 
remarkably  good  work.  I  was  so  charmed  and 
carried  away  by  the  simple  earnestness  of  these 


326  MY  THREESCORE   YEARS  AND  TEN. 

flocks  of  lovely  young  women  I  had  seen  in  the 
different  rooms,  that  I  forgot  to  ask  where  the 
young  men  were;  but  I  presume  they  were  in 
another  part  of  the  building,  and  I  shall  take 
great  pleasure  in  paying  them  a  visit  the  next 
time  I  come.  Long  may  our  Boston  Museum  of 
Fine  Arts  flourish ;  and  may  it  never  languish  for 
want  of  means  to  carry  out  its  grand  purpose ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

ONE  day  I  started  out  to  visit  the  haunts  of  my 
early  childhood,  the  "  West  End."  I  walked  down 
Hancock  Street,  and  looked  at  the  house  (No.  16) 
from  which  thirty-five  years  ago  I  took  my  wife,  and 
in  which  my  daughter  was  born.  From  thence  down 
Lynde  Street,  Leverett  Street,  and  on  to  Leverett 
Court,  —  which  I  recognized  at  once,  although  it  was 
now  a  street  of  some  length  and  importance.  Turn- 
ing into  this,  I  descended  the  hill  down  which  I  used 
to  coast  or  slip  or  roll ;  recognizing  the  long  gloomy 
alley  on  the  right,  which  I  imagined  at  that  time 
tenanted  by  ghostly  spectres,  and  which  I  used  to 
hurry  by  with  head  averted  after  dark,  until  one 
night,  from  very  shame,  I  gave  myself  a  determined 
shake,  —  as  I  did  that  other  time  when  crossing  the 
Common,  —  and  forced  myself  to  stop  and  gaze  into 
its  black  depths.  A  little  farther  down,  the  court 
turned  abruptly  to  the  right,  and  after  a  few  rods 
butted  up  against  a  solid  granite  wall  twenty  feet 
or  more  high.  This  wall  was  part  of  the  enclosure 
of  the  Jail  and  House  of  Correction.  The  former 
at  this  point  being  but  a  few  feet  from  the  wall, 


328  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

the  tenants  of  the  upper  story,  whose  barred  win- 
dows overlooked  the  wall,  could  converse  with 
their  friends,  who  visited  our  court  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  that  privilege.  The  conversations  passing 
at  that  distance  were  necessarily  heard  by  the 
whole  neighborhood,  and  were  often  very  amus- 
ing, sometimes  offensive,  and  occasionally  heart- 
rending. Back  of  this  jail  was  a  wharf  where  all 
criminal  executions  took  place,  in  full  view  of  the 
wharves  on  Causeway  Street  and  at  the  foot  of  Lev- 
erett  Court;  it  being  all  water,  at  that  time,  be- 
tween these  and  Charlestown.  I  well  remember 
how  those  wharves  were  crowded  to  suffocation 
one  time,  with  men  and  boys  —  ay,  and  women  too 
—  desirous  of  witnessing  the  hanging  of  the  five 
Spanish  pirates,  and  how,  with  the  natural  de- 
pravity of  boys,  I,  who  would  cry  at  sight  of  a 
hungry  beggar  or  a  lost  child,  strove  with  all  my 
might  to  see  those  poor  wretches  drop  from  the 
scaffold,  and  only  succeeded  in  getting  a  sight  of 
their  lifeless  bodies  hanging  in  a  row  after  the 
crowd  had  partially  dispersed.  I  now  continued  my 
way  through  the  court,  that  used  to  be,  but  which 
now  extends  to  Causeway  Street,  and  is  called  Wall 
Street,  from  the  prison  wall  that  once  bounded  the 
court. 

I  passed  the  low  brick  house  on  the  corner  of 
Causeway  and  Merrimack  Streets,  with  its  corner 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  329 

grocery  shop.  It  did  not  look  so  low  when  I  used 
to  pass  it  daily  on  my  way  to  school,  stopping  to 
look  with  wonder  at  the  pencil  sketches  with  which 
the  eggs  in  the  window  were  decorated  by  the  shop- 
boy.  They  attracted,  as  well,  older  eyes  than  mine. 
This  boy,  whose  artistic  talent  was  budding  out 
in  this  way,  I  remember  later  as  the  junior  partner 
in  the  firm  of  Gerry  &  Burt,  fancy  and  ornamen- 
tal painters.  Burt,  the  author  of  these  remarkable 
egg-shell  sketches,  died  young ;  and  Gerry  developed 
into  our  well-known  Samuel  L.,  the  landscape- 
painter,  who  I  trust  and  believe  is  still  as  hale 
and  hearty  as  I  am ;  and  he  must  be  not  far  from 
my  age,  although  I  think  he  has  a  little  the  advan- 
tage of  me  —  on  the  wrong  side. 

I  continued  on  to  Chardon  Street,  where,  at  the 
corner  of  Hawkins  Street,  stood,  and  still  stands, 
the  old  Mayhew  School-house,  now  occupied  as  a 
"  Home  for  Wanderers,"  where  the  homeless  can 
always  find  a  bed  and  a  meal,  at  least  for  once.  I 
passed  up  the  stairs  that  my  small  feet  had  so  often 
trod,  and  entered  the  large  room  whose  threshold 
those  small  feet  so  joyfully  passed  (when  going  out), 
and  found  it  lined  on  all  sides  with  plain  but  com- 
fortable beds  for  the  weary  wanderers.  By  this 
time  I  was  getting  somewhat  weary  myself,  but 
continued  my  wandering  up  through  Court  Street. 
Seeing  a  sign  on  a  door,  "  Feathers  cured  while 


330  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

you  wait,"  I  thought  it  could  not  be  a  disease  worth 
mentioning,  to  be  cured  so  readily,  and  wondered 
if  it  was  anything  like  "  Shingles."  Passing  on,  I 
came  to  the  very  door  from  which,  sixty  years  ago, 
that  other  sign  greeted  my  eyes :  "  Boy  wanted." 
Yes,  the  building  of  the  old  New  England  Museum 
still  stands,  between  BrattleJStreet  and  Cornhill,  on 
Scollay  Square.  From  there  I  proceeded  up  Tre- 
mont  Row,  and  mounted  the  stairs  of  No.  17i,  clear  to 
the  attic,  and  entered  once  more  my  old  studio.  But 
how  different  it  seemed  now  !  Occupied  by  a  manu- 
facturing dentist,  I  found  a  large  forge  on  one  side, 
a  work-bench  on  the  other,  —  everything  black 
with  smoke ;  but  there  was  the  same  window  in  the 
top,  through  which  for  so  many  years  the  light  of 
heaven  streamed  down  upon  my  easel,  and  from 
which  that  mischievous  monkey  descended  to  play 
his  pranks  with  my  paints  and  brushes.  Descend- 
ing to  the  street,  I  stepped  across  to  the  Boston 
Museum,  to  call  upon  my  old  friend  Moses  Kimball. 
It  happened  to  be  Wednesday,  and  there  was  a  per- 
formance going  on  in  the  Theatre ;  and  as  Manager 
Field,  in  his  extreme  politeness,  always  offers  me 
his  own  box  or  the  best  seat  in  the  house,  I  went 
in  and  saw  that  admirable  play  "  Joseph  Andrews' 
Sweetheart." 

Going  home  in  the  cars,  I  was  amused  by  a  sol- 
emn dialogue  between  two  old  ladies  in  the  seat 


MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  331 

directly  before  me.  They  were  evidently  from  the 
country,  and  not  aware  how  loudly  they  spoke.  It 
is  surprising  how  prone  we  are  to  use  long  words 
when  speaking  of  any  sad  event  or  relating  a 
solemn  experience. 

FIRST  OLD  LADY.  I  suppose  you  heard  of  poor 
young  Jones's  sudden  death? 

SECOND  0.  L.  Yes;  wasn't  it  really  melan- 
choly to  be  so  summarily  removed,  without  pre- 
vious warning,  from  this  eventful  life  ? 

FIRST  0.  L.  (not  to  be  outdone').  Truly,  we 
are  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  No  doubt 
he  anticipated  all  he  ever  expected  to  realize. 

May  27,  Mrs.  Julia  Ward  Howe's  seventieth  anni- 
versary, I  called  to  add  my  humble  congratulations 
to  those  of  her  host  of  other  friends.  I  thought 
of  the  time,  nearly  forty  years  ago,  when  I  used  to 
meet  with  our  old  friend  Dr.  George  Derby  and 
one  or  two  others,  at  her  house,  for  musical  prac- 
tice. She  may  have  forgotten  ever  having  sung 
duets  with  me ;  but  I  have  not,  and  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  she  sometimes  played  our  accompani- 
ments. I  have  a  vivid  impression  of  having 
sung  on  one  occasion  the  "  Pro  peccatis  "  to  her 
accompaniment. 

I  remember  a  story  she  once  told  me  of  a  bash- 
ful young  man  who  called  upon  her,  and  after  hav- 
ing praised  something  she  had  written,  added, 


332  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

"But  compliments  to  you,  Mrs.  Howe,  must  be 
like  —  casting  —  pearls  before  —  I  mean  —  er  — 
er  —  "  "  And  the  poor  man  in  his  confusion,"  said 
Mrs.  Howe,  "  forgot  that  he  meant  to  say  '  like 
bringing  coals  to  Newcastle.' "  I  wondered  if  my 
own  bashfulness  had  not  reminded  her  of  the 
story. 

But  now  my  seventieth  anniversary  was  drawing 
alarmingly  near.  This  I  had  made  a  solemn 
promise  should  be  celebrated  at  Milton  with  our 
kind  step-sister-in-law,  Mrs.  George  H.  Chickering, 
who  intended  to  give  us  a  very  "  swell "  reception  ; 
but  owing  to  the  delicate  health  of  Mrs.  Ball,  it 
was  deemed  advisable  to  make  it  a  simple  but  ele- 
gant one, — only  our  nearest  relatives  and  friends 
being  notified  to  attend. 

Mrs.  Chickering,  who  has  a  way  of  her  own  of 
doing  things,  first  ordered  for  this  occasion  a  three- 
story  birthday  cake,  decorated  with  seventy  candles, 
and  surmounted  by  a  group  of  statuary  in  sugar.  All 
this  seemed  to  hint  either  that  I  was  now  entering 
my  second  childhood,  or  that  my  light  should  no 
longer  be  "  hidden  under  a  bushel,"  — for  I  defy  any 
one  to  have  found  a  bushel-basket  or  measure  large 
enough  to  cover  the  blazing  cake.  But  large  as  it 
was,  it  was  but  a  small  part  of  the  entertainment 
prepared  for  us.  The  guests  seemed  to  have  en- 
tered unanimously  into  the  second-childhood  joke, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  333 

for  they  all  brought  either  flowers,  cakes,  or  bon- 
bons. I  did  not  object  in  the  least  to  these  sweets, 
for  I  always  had  a  special  weakness  for  flowers  and 
bonbons.  The  only  drawback  now  to  our  perfect 
happiness  was  the  fact  that  our  dear  children,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Couper,  and  their  two  babies  were  at  that 
time  in  mid-ocean  on  their  way  to  America,  not 
having  been  able  to  come  when  we  did. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

JUNE  6,  we  went  to  New  York  to  visit  my 
friend  and  pupil,  Daniel  C.  French,  who  had  not 
long  before  established  himself,  house  and  studio, 
in  that  city,  and  had  taken  to  himself  a  wife  worthy 
in  every  way  of  the  cosey  establishment  and  its 
padrone. 

While  there  I  took  the  opportunity  to  run  down 
to  Bridgeport  to  pay  my  respects  to  Friend  Barnum, 
and  to  see  if  he  looked  resigned  after  having  his 
monument  prepared  for  him.  I  wrote  him  that  I 
would  come  to  him  the  next  day,  lunch  with  him, 
and  return  by  the  next  train.  I  immediately  re- 
ceived a  despatch  saying, "  Come  by  early  train,  and 
stay  till  five  o'clock  and  see  my  great  show."  It 
seems  he  exhibits  in  Bridgeport  once  in  two  years, 
and  I  had  happened  to  hit  on  the  very  day  for  my 
visit.  He  was  at  the  station  to  meet  me.  I  was 
somewhat  surprised  at  the  haste  with  which  he  hus- 
tled me  into  the  carriage,  calling  out  to  "John," 
"  Drive  as  fast  as  you  can !  Cut  down  that  street 
and  see  if  we  can't  head  them  off !  "  I  found  that 
what  he  wanted  to  head  off  was  the  grand  procession, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  335 

which  he  wished  me  to  see  ;  consisting  of  elephants 
(a  score  at  least),  camels,  horses  from  the  size  of 
a  Newfoundland  dog  upward;  gorgeously  gilded 
cars  conveying  the  hundreds  of  performers  in  cos- 
tume ;  other  immense  vehicles  containing  the  cages 
of  wild  beasts ;  Roman  war-chariots,  and  endless 
other  showy  carriages.  All  this  is  a  free  display 
to  the  inhabitants  of  the  cities  and  towns  that 
"  the  greatest  show  on  earth  "  visits  ;  and  the  people 
are  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity. 
I  found  the  streets  thronged  with  men,  women,  and 
children,  all  in  their  best  Sunday  attire. 

A  gentleman  I  met  at  the  station  who  employs 
a  great  number  of  men,  told  me  he  might  as  well 
expect  them  to  work  Sunday  or  the  Fourth  of  July  as 
the  day  when  Barnum  came  to  town.  It  did  seem 
rather  an  interruption  to  business ;  but  think  of 
the  thousands  upon  thousands  who  would  live  and 
die  without  ever  having  seen  an  elephant  or  a 
camel,  if  it  were  not  for  this  great  free  show.  Per- 
haps it  is  not  absolutely  necessary  that  they  should 
see  an  elephant  or  a  camel ;  but  they  think  so,  after 
having  seen  them. 

Here  have  I  been  describing  what  you  have  all 
seen  time  after  time  ;  but  there  are  some  features 
of  this  great  show  that  you  have  not  seen,  and  I 
have.  Mr.  Barnum  took  me  through  all  the  vari- 
ous canvas  apartments  attached  to  the  great  cen- 


336  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

tral  pavilion,  and  devoted  to  the  accommodation  and 
provision  of  this  small  city-full  of  employe's.  One 
division  is  a  dressing-room,  with  all  conveniences, 
for  the  female  performers  ;  another  for  the  males  ; 
another,  larger,  constitutes  a  dining-room  for  all 
the  performers,  having  a  long  table  set  out  and 
prepared  for  the  next  meal;  still  another  room, 
fully  as  large,  was  furnished  with  a  table  more 
humbly  set,  for  the  numerous  laborers.  Perhaps 
as  interesting  a  place  as  any  was  the  kitchen, 
where  a  score  of  cooks  were  busy  preparing  the 
food  for  the  crowd.  Now,  as  we  began  to  feel 
hungry  ourselves  and  were  not  invited  to  stop,  it 
was  thought  best  to  go  home  to  lunch. 

This  home  was  a  new  house,  just  finished,  sim- 
ple and  elegant,  and,  as  he  informed  me,  was  built 
expressly  to  please  his  wife,  who  considered  the 
famous  and  showy  "  Waldemere  "  of  too  ornate  a 
style  of  architecture;  it  was  therefore  ruthlessly 
demolished,  to  secure  the  most  enviable  site  upon 
which  it  stood.  Here  I  met,  for  the  first  time, 
Mrs.  Barnum,  —  a  most  charming  and  intelligent 
lady,  who  politely  took  me  all  over  the  new  house, 
where  her  refined  taste  and  influence  were  recog- 
nized in  every  corner. 

When  we  left  the  tents  it  began  to  rain  quite 
hard,  and  it  was  feared  it  would  continue  through 
the  day ;  which  would  mean  upward  of  $6,000  out 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  337 

of  Mr.  Barnum's  pocket,  —  for  there  can  be  no  post- 
ponement, as  the  army  must  move  and  set  up  its 
tents  in  another  town  that  night  for  the  next  day's 
performance.  But  while  we  were  at  lunch  the  sun 
came  out  bright  again,  and  an  hour  afterward  we 
two  boys  started  for  the  show.  Arriving,  we  found 
the  big  tent  packed;  and  it  seats  about  ten  tJiou- 
sand  people.  Upon  entering,  the  great  man  seized 
me  by  the  arm,  as  I  supposed,  to  conduct  me  di- 
rectly to  our  seats ;  what  was  my  surprise  to  find 
myself  being  marched  round  the  whole  circumfer- 
ence of  the  race-course,  amid  the  tumultuous  ap- 
plause of  this  vast  audience  when  they  recognized 
their  illustrious  townsman,  who  had  pressed  me  into 
his  service  either  to  cover  his  own  embarrassment 
or  to  enjoy  mine,  —  I  mistrust  it  was  the  latter. 

However,  we  finally  reached  our  seats,  and  en- 
joyed the  first  half  of  the  performance  immensely. 
But  in  the  midst  of  it  there  came  up  a  tremendous 
thunder-shower,  the  water  drenching  the  tent  and 
trickling  down  on  our  devoted  heads.  But  we  all 
stood  our  ground,  or  rather  sat  our  benches,  only 
raising  a  forest  of  umbrellas,  each  one  of  which, 
while  protecting  the  head  of  its  owner,  poured  its 
trickling  rivulets  into  his  neighbor's  lap  or  down 
his  back.  Fortunately,  the  trapeze  performers  had 
done  their  work,  and  the  tight-rope  walkers  had 
passed  over  dry-shod.  The  chariot  and  foot  races 

22 


338  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS   AND   TEN. 

were  still  to  come  off,  and  the  track  was  what 
might  be  called  decidedly  heavy.  As  we  occupied 
front  seats,  every  time  the  chariots  passed,  they 
gave  us  a  liberal  spattering  of  mud  and  water. 
But  we  were  bound  to  see  the  last  of  it,  and  we 
did ;  and  as  we  left  the  pavilion,  the  sun  shone 
out  bright  from  behind  a  cloud,  laughing  at  his 
own  joke.  I  was  then  driven  to  the  station  in 
time  for  the  train  for  New  York,  where  I  arrived 
not  much  worse  for  my  circus. 

June  7,  our  darlings  arrived  on  board  the  "  Ger- 
manic," all  safe  and  sound,  and  almost  immedi- 
ately went  on  to  Norfolk,  where  we  were  to  meet 
them  in  a  few  days,  to  visit  my  son-in-law's  family, 
no  one  of  whom  had  Mrs.  Ball  ever  seen.  But  the 
long  journey  and  the  intensely  hot  weather  proved 
too  much  for  my  wife ;  she  was  obliged  to  keep  her 
bed  most  of  the  time,  unable  to  see  the  many 
friends  who  were  kind  enough  to  call  upon  her. 
All  this  made  us  both  very  nervous,  and,  fancying 
that  the  climate  had  something  to  do  with  it,  we 
were  forced  to  cut  our  visit  short,  much  to  our  re- 
gret ;  for  a  more  delightfully  kind  and  lovely  fam- 
ily I  never  met,  than  those  same  Coupers,  —  father, 
mother,  three  brothers,  and  two  sisters,  each  de- 
voted to  the  others,  and  all  devoted  to  us. 

June  23,  we  returned  directly  to  New  York,  from 
whence  we  had  engaged  to  make  a  short  visit  at 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  339 

the  summer  residence  of  our  warm  friends  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  John  A.  C.  Gray ;  but  as  we  were  anxious 
to  get  back  to  Boston  on  Mrs.  Ball's  account,  we 
were  obliged  to  forego  the  great  pleasure  of  their 
hospitality,  only  accepting  their  carriage  for  the 
afternoon.  Mr.  Gray  took  us  on  a  charming  drive 
through  their  magnificent  Central  Park ;  visiting, 
among  the  many  works  of  art,  my  colossal  Webster, 
which  my  wife  had  never  seen  on  its  pedestal.  As 
we  approached  it,  from  one  view  I  was  quite  well 
pleased  with  it,  but  from  another  I  discovered 
where  I  might  have  added  a  few  pounds  of  clay  to 
advantage. 

There  was  one  other  visit  (to  Flushing,  Long 
Island)  that  we  were  obliged  to  give  up,  and  that  I 
now  regret  more  than  I  can  express,  for  it  was  my 
last  opportunity  of  seeing  in  this  world  my  old  friend 
Mr.  Edward  Mitchel.  I  made  his  acquaintance  in 
a  strange  place,  even  the  ball  under  the  cross  on 
the  top  of  St.  Peter's  in  Rome ;  and  from  that  time 
—  now  nearly  thirty  years  —  we  had  continued  a 
warm  friendship,  although  meeting  but  seldom. 
We  have  been  pained  to  hear  of  his  death  since 
we  returned  to  Florence. 

Mrs.  Ball  rallied  at  once  on  our  return  to  Bos- 
ton and  to  her  uncle's  house  in  Dorchester.  Here 
the  complete  rest  and  her  native  air  seemed  to  set 
her  up  immediately. 


340  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

July  4,  Independence  Day,  while  Mrs.  Ball 
spent  the  day  quietly  with  Cousin  Bessie,  I  went 
"  gallivanting  "  off  to  the  city,  to  keep  an  appoint- 
ment with  Dr.  Angell  to  renew  our  youth  —  or 
rather  mine,  for  his  does  not  yet  require  renewing 
—  by  spending  our  glorious  anniversary  on  the 
"  Common."  For  this  purpose  we  sallied  out  at 
eleven  o'clock  A.  M.,  walked  down  the  Beacon  Street 
Mall,  with  its  double  row  of  refreshment  tents  and 
booths,  looking  just  as  they  did  when  we  were  boys 
and  used  to  eat  our  gingerbread  and  drink  our 
lemonade  as  long  as  our  money  held  out.  There 
were  the  same  tables  loaded  with  baked  beans, 
ham-sandwiches,  pink  and  white  lemonade,  can- 
dies, pickled  limes,  and  root  beer ;  and  apparently 
the  same  crowd  of  tired  but  excited  country- 
people,  eagerly  partaking  of  these  attractive  re- 
freshments. There  were  the  same  machines  for 
weighing,  for  blowing,  for  striking,  for  lifting,  etc. 
The  Doctor  had  a  great  desire  to  test  the  strength 
of  his  lungs  and  the  length  of  his  wind  by  blow- 
ing into  the  machine  for  that  purpose;  but  was 
deterred  by  the  appearance  of  the  person  who  had 
just  tested  it,  as  there  was  no  choice  of  tubes.  So 
we  tore  ourselves  away,  and  proceeded  to  inspect 
the  various  dime-shows  —  from  the  outside ;  till  we 
were  finally  tempted  by  an  extraordinary  display 
of  pictures  of  at  least  a  dozen  living  monstrosities, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  341 

which  in  the  cause  of  Anatomy  we  deemed  it  our 
duty  to  see.  But  after  paying  our  money  we 
learned  that  the  monsters  had  all  gone  to  dinner, 
with  the  exception  of  the  young  woman  without 
arms,  who  was  playing  the  piano  with  her  feet. 
We  therefore,  after  buying  her  autograph  written 
with  her  toes,  went  out,  and,  only  stopping  to  have 
our  fortunes  told  by  the  "  innocent  birds "  of  an 
Italian  girl  who  reminded  us  so  much  of  the 
Roman  models,  wended  our  way  home  to  lunch. 
We  went  to  the  Common  again  in  the  afternoon, 
to  assist  at  the  balloon  ascension ;  and  after  see- 
ing the  aeronauts  safely  off,  the  good  Doctor  con- 
ducted me  to  my  tram-car,  —  as  I  was  a  stranger 
in  town,- — and  I  got  back  in  time  to  dine  with 
Cousin  Bessie  and  finish  up  the  day  by  helping 
the  children  burn  about  a  bushel  of  fire-crackers, 
more  or  less. 

There  really  seemed  to  be  some  reason  in  that 
birthday  joke  about  "  second  childhood ; "  but  judg- 
ing from  my  own  feelings,  second  childhood  is  not 
so  bad  a  state  as  it  might  be. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

I  WENT  to  Great  Barrington,  Massachusetts, 
July  1,  to  see  the  marble  palace  of  Mr.  Edward  F. 
Searles,  and  to  select  a  place  for  my  statue  of 
David.  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  this  mag- 
nificent mansion,  for  that  will  be  done  in  detail, 
when  finished,  by  readier  pens  than  mine.  I  will 
only  touch  upon  one  or  two  features  which  struck 
me  most  forcibly.  Standing  upon  the  wide-spread- 
ing marble  terraces  at  the  back  of  the  palace,  you 
look  out  upon  a  vast  velvety  meadow  of  seventy- 
five  acres,  bounded  on  the  right  by  a  forest  of  lofty 
trees,  and  on  the  left  by  the  green  Berkshire  hills, 
while  far  off  before  you  nestles  a  village,  the  voices 
of  whose  spires  on  a  Sunday  morning  you  feel 
would  be  borne  to  the  ear  from  that  distance  like 
sweetest  music.  The  village  softly  veiled  by  the 
hazy  atmosphere,  the  immense  carpet  of  green 
velvet,  the  noble  masses  of  forest  trees,  the  quiet 
graceful  outlines  of  the  hills  in  the  middle  dis- 
tance, all  go  to  form  a  picture  touched  in  the 
broadest,  grandest,  but  simplest  manner,  suggestive 
of  perfect  repose. 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  343 

Here  have  I  been  using  up  all  my  adjectives  be- 
fore I  enter  the  house  !  But  I  did  not  promise  to 
describe  that,  and  were  I  to  attempt  it  I  should 
only  weary  you.  I  will  simply  say  that  it  is  worthy 
of  the  scene  it  overlooks,  and  of  the  taste  of  the 
man  who  chose  that  site  to  build  his  house  upon. 
But  I  find  it  difficult  to  refrain  from  speaking  of 
that  exquisite  music-hall  and  its  grand  organ,  that 
ought  to  be  and  will  be  the  pride  of  not  only  the 
town,  but  the  State  which  possesses  it. 

Mr.  Searles  is  an  enthusiastic  amateur  of  the 
noble  instrument,  and  on  this  occasion  sat  down 
before  it  and  improvised  skilfully  for  half  an  hour, 
showing  up  all  its  possibilities  (and  they  were 
many),  to  my  great  delight.  He  then  took  me  all 
over  the  house,  decided  upon  the  place  for  the 
David,  talked  of  various  plans  he  had  in  view  for 
the  improvement  of  this  estate  and  the  one  in  his 
native  town,  Methuen,  where  I  had  previously 
visited  him  by  invitation, — at  which  time,  while 
showing  me  the  town,  he  had  pointed  out  the  spot 
where  he  would  like  to  see  my  Washington  Monu- 
ment ;  but  now  no  word  of  it,  as  I  had  had  a  faint 
hope  there  might  be.  As  he  was  leaving  me  at 
the  station,  he  said,  — 

"  Let  me  see,  you  are  to  sail  in  two  weeks." 

"Yes,  but  you  may  have  occasion  to  come  to 
Boston  before  that ;  if  you  do,  let  me  know." 


344  MY   THBEESCOKE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

"  Oh,  I  will  see  you  again  before  you  go,  if  I  am 
not  there  to  see  you  off.  I  want  you  to  work  for 
me  when  you  go  back." 

That  might  mean  nothing  more  than  that  he 
hoped  I  would  hurry  up  the  several  small  orders  I 
then  had  in  hand  for  him.  And  so  we  parted. 

I  had  in  the  morning  telegraphed  to  my  wife  not 
to  expect  me  until  ten  o'clock  p.  M.,  instead  of  six. 

Upon  hearing  this,  Friend  8 ,  at  whose  house 

we  were  then  visiting,  looked  at  his  time-table,  and 
found  there  was  no  train  from  Great  Barrington 
before  eleven  P.  M.  So  our  wives  retired  for  the 
night,  and  he  took  a  carriage  at  half-past  ten  to 
meet  me  at  the  station.  We  must  have  passed 
each  other;  for  I  had  managed,  by  Mr.  Searles's 
directions,  to  strike  the  New  York  express,  which 
brought  me  in  half  an  hour  earlier.  Walking  up 
from  the  station,  I  arrived  about  eleven  at  the  house, 
and  found  the  street  door  of  the  vestibule  open,  but 
the  inside  one  locked,  the  gas  burning  in  the  hall 
and  front  drawing-room,  everything  looking  ex- 
ceedingly cheerful  and  hospitable ;  but  when  I  rang 
the  door-bell,  there  was  no  response.  I  rang  again 
and  again  and  again,  with  no  better  result.  I 
finally  gave  it  up,  thinking  that  some  one  had  been 
sitting  up  for  me,  and  had  fallen  into  a  sound  sleep, 
from  which  there  was  no  awaking  him.  So,  after 
carefully  pulling-to  the  outside  door,  which  shut 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  345 

with  a  patent-spring  lock,  I  betook  myself  to  the 
Hotel  Yendome,  not  far  off.  In  the  mean  time 

Friend  S ,  finding  I  did  not  arrive  by  the  train 

he  had  been  waiting  for,  returned  home  to  find 
himself  locked  out.  It  seemed  he  had  left  the 
outer  door  ajar  because  he  had  mislaid  his  key. 
Now  there  began  a  repetition  of  the  performance 
on  the  door-bell,  with  no  better  result  than  had 
attended  my  own  efforts.  Then,  going  round  to 
the  back  of  the  house,  the  name  of  his  wife  floated 
softly  up  on  the  midnight  air,  —  "May,  May!" 
This  familiar  sound  aroused  her  as  a  whole  chime 
of  bells  would  have  failed  to  do.  She  put  her  head 
out  of  the  window. 

"Where's  Mr.  Ball?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  is  n't  he  here  ?  " 

"  No !    Have  n't  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  he  's  been  here,  and  gone,  shutting  the 
front  door  after  him;  and  I  can't  get  in.  Come 
down  and  open  it." 

Down  she  comes,  and  after  fumbling  over  that 
patent-spring  lock  five  minutes,  calls  out  through 
the  key-hole :  "  Frank,  I  can't  undo  this  thing,  but 
I  can  unfasten  the  parlor  window,  and  you  must 
climb  in."  This  he  managed  to  do.  Fortunately 
the  watchman  was  asleep,  and  my  friend  was  not 
arrested.  Then  they  began  wondering  what  had 
become  of  me.  When  he  was  partly  undressed, 
his  wife  suddenly  broke  out  again, — 


346  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

«  Frank,  you  must  find  Mr.  Ball." 

"  Where  am  I  to  find  him  ?  He 's  gone  to  a  hotel, 
and  is  comfortably  in  bed  and  asleep  before  this." 

"  But,  Frank,  you  must  find  him  and  bring  him 
back.  I  looked  in  on  Mrs.  Ball  half  an  hour  ago, 
and  she  was  sleeping  sweetly;  and  if  she  wakes 
and  finds  he  has  not  returned,  she  will  be  dread- 
fully alarmed." 

That  was  enough.  He  quickly  put  on  his  cravat 
and  coat  again,  and  started  out,  fortunately  trying 
the  Vendome  first,  where  he  learned  that  I  had 
retired  half  an  hour  before.  Just  as  I  was  dozing 
off  into  sound  sleep  after  my  fatiguing  day,  I 
heard  advancing  steps  and  voices  in  the  corridor ; 
and  as  they  approached  my  door,  some  one  said, 
"Ah,  here  is  No.  48." 

"There,"  I  thought,  "that  stupid  servant  has 
put  me  into  somebody  else's  room."  Then  came 
a  rap. 

"  Who 's  there  ?  "  from  the  bed. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Ball,  open  the  door,  please ! "  Recog- 
nizing my  friend's  voice,  I  was  out  of  bed  in  a  twin- 
iling.  "How  did  you  get  here ?  I  have  been  down 
to  the  station  after  you.  But  never  mind  now! 
Dress  yourself,  and  come  down  home  with  me." 

"Nonsense!  I  am  comfortably  settled  for  the 
night.  I  '11  be  with  you  before  breakfast  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  No ;  my  wife  says  I  must  not  come  back  with- 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  347 

out  you,  —  that  Mrs.  Ball  will  awake  and  be  alarmed 
if  you  are  not  there." 

Nothing  would  do  but  I  must  dress  myself  and 

go  along  with  him.  After  receiving  Mrs.  S 's 

welcome  and  good-night  over  the  banisters,  I 
hurried  up  to  our  room,  to  meet  another  surprise. 

Mrs.  Ball,  who  half  an  hour  ago  had  been  seen 
sleeping  so  sweetly,  had  taken  advantage  of  that 
short  half-hour  to  wake  up,  and  finding  I  had  not 
returned  and  that  it  was  past  midnight,  had  locked 
the  door,  not  expecting  to  see  me  after  that. 
There  I  was,  locked  out  a  second  time !  It  did 
seem  as  if  the  fates  were  against  my  getting  any 
repose  that  night.  But  my  gentle  tap,  like  my 
friend's  familiar  "  May,"  quickly  roused  the  wife  of 
my  bosom,  who  let  me  in  with  a  drowsy  "  Where 
have  you  been  ? "  but  was  easily  put  off  till  morn- 
ing for  an  explanation.  As  soon,  however,  as  we 
were  out  of  bed,  I  had  to  rehearse  my  nocturnal 
adventures,  when  she  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the 
bed  and  laughed  as  I  had  not  heard  or  seen  her  do 
before  for  two  years  at  least. 

A  few  days  before  I  sailed,  thinking  over  those 
last  words  of  Mr.  Searles  when  he  was  leaving  me 
at  the  station,  together  with  several  hints  he  threw 
out  during  my  visit  at  his  house  in  Methuen, — 
once  modestly  remarking  that  it  must  seem  a  great 
piece  of  presumption  on  his  part  to  think  about 


348  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS  AND   TEN. 

ordering  so  grand  and  important  a  work  as  my 
Washington,  to  bury  it  (as  he  called  it), —  and  re- 
membering that  I  had  not  only  never  broached  the 
subject  to  him,  but  had  hardly  dared  to  respond 
to  his  hints,  for  fear,  after  the  liberal  commissions 
he  had  already  given  me,  that  I  might  seem  to  be 
too  grasping,  —  I  resolved  to  write  him  a  short  let- 
ter, telling  him  frankly  that  it  would  delight  me  to 
make  the  Washington  Monument  for  him  to  erect 
in  his  native  town ;  giving  him  the  cost  of  it  and 
the  time  (five  years)  I  should  require  to  do  it. 

A  day  or  two  after,  I  received  a  despatch  from 
him  requesting  me  to  meet  him  at  the  Boston  and 
Albany  Station  at  half-past  two  that  afternoon.  It 
is  needless  to  say  that  I  was  punctual  to  the  ap- 
pointment. There  I  found  him  taking  his  lunch  in 
the  restaurant.  He  informed  me  that  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  by  the  three-o'clock  train,  but  that 
we  could  talk  while  he  finished  his  meal.  When 
nearly  through,  he  quietly  remarked,  "I  think  I 
shall  accept  your  proposition  in  regard  to  the  monu- 
ment." It  almost  took  my  breath  away,  I  could 
hardly  believe  my  ears.  He  then  asked  me  if  I 
could  go  a  short  distance  with  him,  and  we  could 
talk  in  the  cars.  Of  course  I  was  ready  to  go  any 
distance  with  him ;  but  the  guard  told  us  that  this 
train  did  not  stop  between  Boston  and  Worcester,  — 
a  journey  Mr.  Searles  would  not  hear  of  my  taking, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  349 

as  we  had  still  ten  minutes,  and  could  say  all  that 
was  necessary  before  the  train  started.  We  then 
went  through  to  the  platform,  that  he  might  step 
on  to  the  train  at  a  moment's  notice.  He  went  on 
to  say  that  he  had  found  a  better  site  for  the  mon- 
ument than  the  one  he  had  pointed  out  to  me, 
which  he  would  explain.  Then  fumbling  in  his 
pockets  for  a  bit  of  paper,  he  found  only  my  letter, 
upon  the  blank  page  of  which  he  rapidly  sketched 
the  relative  positions  of  the  two  sites.  I  agreed 
with  him  that  the  last  one  was  much  the  better  of 
the  two.  "  Then,"  said  he,  "  there 's  nothing  more 
to  be  said;  you  can  go  ahead  with  the  principal 
figure  as  soon  as  you  go  back,  and  I  will  have  a 
proper  contract  made  out,  based  upon  your  letter, 
to  secure  you  under  any  circumstances,  and  send  it 
out  to  you."  The  bell  rang,  the  whistle  sounded, 
he  bade  me  good-by  and  was  off. 

The  whole  thing  seemed  so  much  like  a  scene 
from  a  fairy  story,  that  it  would  not  have  surprised 
me  much  to  see  my  little  friend  spin  down  from  the 
rafters  to  congratulate  me  viva  voce.  It  seems  as  if 
a  man,  to  be  able  to  give  such  a  commission  off-hand, 
must  possess  a  veritable  enchanter's  wand.  How 
delightful  to  have  the  power  to  do  the  good  that  I 
am  confident  he  is  desirous  of  doing!  Long  may  he 
live  to  enjoy  his  wealth,  and  never  squander  it  on  a 
less  harmless  toy  than  a  Washington  Monument ! 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

WE  now  turned  our  attention  to  packing  up  our 
"  traps,"  to  sail  the  27th  of  July  back  to  our  Flor- 
ence home ;  I  being  particularly  anxious  to  return 
to  my  studio  to  begin  my  great  work,  —  perhaps  I 
should  say,  at  present,  my  large  work ;  the  princi- 
pal figure  of  which  is  to  be  fifteen  feet  high.  I 
longed  to  bury  my  hands  in  that  mountain  of  clay. 
The  day  before  I  sailed  I  called  upon  my  old  friend 
and  rival  barytone  of  the  Handel  and  Haydn  Soci- 
ety, whom  I  treated  so  shabbily  about  forty  years 
ago  over  there  in  Egypt ;  shilly-shallying  till  he  lost 
every  bit  of  his  traditional  meekness,  and  asserted 
himself  as  the  great  Moses  that  he  was.  Before  I 
left  him  this  time,  he  brought  to  the  piano  a  duet 
by  Mendelssohn  for  equal  voices,  which  we  two 
veterans  furnished,  and  once  more  poured  out 
together  in  tones  that  an  outsider  would  hardly 
believe  proceeded  from  two  graybeards  of  the 
"  united  age "  of  one  hundred  and  forty  years  or 
thereabout.  At  any  rate,  it  was  a  pleasure  that 
will  remain  fresh  in  my  memory  till  I  again  re- 
turn to  my  native  land.  Oh!  I  came  near  for- 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  351 

getting  to  mention  that  the  other  veteran  was  Mr. 
Henry  M.  Aiken. 

The  morning  of  the  27th  we  went  over  to  the 
steamer  in  a  pouring  rain,  which  for  ourselves  we 
did  not  mind.  Considering  the  body  of  water  we 
were  to  face  for  the  next  ten  days,  a  few  drops 
more  or  less  did  not  signify  ;  but  for  our  friends 
who  would  go  over  to  see  us  off,  it  must  have  been 
rather  dismal.  We  found  in  our  stateroom  flowers 
and  fruit  enough  to  last  over  two  voyages.  Then, 
after  we  were  well  under  way,  the  steward  brought 
us  a  box  about  two  feet  square,  which  we  guessed 
at  once,  and  rightly,  was  from  our  friend  Miss 
Sears,  who  never  forgets  us.  This  seemed  to  con- 
tain every  sort  of  thing  the  heart  of  man  or  woman 
could  desire  on  a  voyage,  either  sick  or  well,  —  from 
the  latest  novel  down  to  lemons,  bonbons,  and  play- 
ing-cards. Surely,  no  one  else  ever  had  so  many 
kind  and  thoughtful  friends  before !  Indeed,  our 
entire  visit,  from  the  time  we  stepped  off  of  the 
steamer  till  we  returned  to  her  three  months  after, 
was  one  continued  and  delightful  ovation. 

We  arrived  in  Liverpool  on  the  morning  of 
August  7,  after  a  very  pleasant  though  rather 
long  voyage. 

Having  the  same  stateroom  that  we  went  over 
in,  we  felt  quite  at  home  on  board  the  "  Cephalo- 
nia."  We  departed  at  once  for  Birmingham,  where 


352  MY   THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

we  called  on  Mr.  Lauson  Tait,  the  eminent  sur- 
geon, who  with  a  dozen  words  sent  us  on  our 
way  rejoicing. 

Stopping  two  days  in  London,  and  being  too  late 
for  the  annual  exhibition,  I  spent  one  day  in  the 
National  Gallery,  where  I  revelled  once  more  in 
the  glorious  portraits  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds. 
Where  is  there  a  portrait-painter  of  the  present 
day  who  could  not  study  to  advantage  those  por- 
traits ?  The  flowing,  glowing  touches  of  Sir  Joshua 
make  all  others  look  dry  and  painty.  Then,  what 
a  choice  and  magnificent  collection  of  old  mas- 
ters !  Well  may  England  be  proud  of  her  National 
Gallery;  and  her  artists  be  inspired  to  do  great 
things,  even  though  they  never  set  foot  upon  the 
Continent ! 

When  ready  to  leave  the  gallery,  I  saw  before 
me  a  wide  staircase  descending  to  a  door,  but  on 
each  side,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  was  a  sign 
upon  which  was  printed  "  Way  out,"  with  an 
arrow  pointing  away  from  it.  I  was  about  to  fol- 
low the  direction  of  one  of  them,  when,  noticing 
several  visitors  leaving  by  this  staircase,  I  asked 
an  officer  standing  there  if  that  was  the  way  out. 
He  answered  politely,  "  Yes,  sir."  «  Then  why,"  I 
asked, "  are  your  arrows  pointing  the  wrong  way  ?  " 
"Ah,  sir,"  said  he,  " there's  where  you  are  mis- 
taken ;  they  point  right  for  all  ordinary  occasions  ; 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  353 

this  being  a  paying  day,  sir,  as  an  extraordinary 
favor  we  let  you  out  this  way." 

I  stood  corrected.  It  was  not  the  fault  of  the 
arrows,  but  ours,  for  coming  on  the  paying  day. 
Now,  that  was  very  pleasantly  put ;  and  I  could  not 
help  comparing  favorably  this  officer  with  the 
average  American  under  similar  circumstances. 
The  latter,  knowing  himself  to  be  exactly  as  good 
as  anybody  else,  is  apt  to  be  just  a  little  brusque  in 
answering  a  question.  For  instance,  to  descend 
from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous,  I  was  walking 
through  Washington  Street,  a  few  weeks  ago,  when 
my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  flaring  picture  at 
the  door  of  one  of  the  numerous  "  Dime  Museums  " 
that  infest  that  thoroughfare,  representing  two 
minute  specimens  of  humanity,  and  purporting  to  be 
full  life-size.  I  bought  a  ticket  at  the  street-door, 
and  as  I  was  about  to  give  it  up  inside,  inquired 
where  the  "  Mites "  were,  and  was  told  that  they 
would  not  appear  till  afternoon,  but  there  was 
something  going  on  all  day  on  the  stage.  As  I 
wanted  to  see  only  the  Mites,  I  asked  if  I  could  use 
my  ticket  in  the  afternoon  instead  of  then.  The 
man  called  out,  in  his  loud  and  free-and-easy  way, 
"  Say,  Jim !  here  's  a  feller  wants  to  know  if  he  can 
come  in  this  afternoon  to  see  the  Mites,  with  the 
ticket  he  just  bought."  "  Well,  I  suppose  he  can," 
was  the  answer. 

23 


354  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

Now,  this  man  did  not  mean  to  be  disrespectful 
in  calling  me  "  a  feller ; "  but  it  struck  me  so  ludi- 
crously that  I  went  out  with  a  broad  smile  on  my 
face,  which  must  have  convinced  the  passers-by  that 
there  was  something  very  funny  going  on  inside  ; 
and  I  could  not  help  quoting  to  myself  and  in  my 
own  way  the  words  of  our  national  anthem, — 

"  Independence  is  our  boast, 
Never  minding  what  it  cost." 

Well,  he  had  good  authority  for  calling  me  "  a 
feller."  Did  not  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  once 
say  that  Boston  was  called  the  "  Hub  "  because  a 
feller  is  tired  going  round  it  ?  Perhaps  I  looked 
tired;  but  then  a  feller  doesn't  like  to  be  called  " a 
feller  "  when  he  has  arrived  at  my  age  and  dignity. 
Perhaps  a  feller  at  my  age  shouldn't  patronize 
Dime  Museums. 

But  to  return  to  London.  We  started  the  next 
day  for  Paris  ;  and  I  was  most  abjectly  humiliated 
to  find  myself,  after  having  so  recently  crossed 
the  Atlantic  without  missing  a  meal,  basely  hold- 
ing my  head  in  my  hands,  in  utter  misery  for  an 
hour  and  a  half,  while  crossing  that  wretched 
Channel.  Oh,  when  will  they  tunnel  it  ?  We  spent 
five  days  in  Paris,  devoting  them  all  to  the  great 
Exposition,  and  most  of  the  time  to  the  Fine  Art 
department,  whose  forest  of  statues  and  miles  of 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  355 

pictures  have  never  been  equalled ;  and  it  does 
not  seem  possible  that  such  a  collection  can  ever 
be  brought  together  again.  I  walked  only  once 
through  the  other  departments,  glancing  as  I  went, 
but  stopping  for  nothing  except  to  listen  for  a  mo- 
ment to  Edison's  phonograph,  which,  on  account  of 
the  fearful  clatter  of  the  machinery  in  that  depart- 
ment, was  very  unsatisfactory;  especially  after  a 
private  exhibition  I  had  attended  in  Boston  a  few 
weeks  before,  where  the  voices  of  my  friends  were 
produced  to  the  life,  —  one,  in  particular,  in  a  tenor 
solo  sung  a  week  before,  and  repeated  by  the  in- 
strument on  this  occasion ;  the  voice,  the  piano 
accompaniment,  and  finally  the  applause  at  the 
end,  all  came  out  with  marvellous  effect.  But  all 
this  did  not  surprise  me  so  much  as  did  the  "  talk- 
ing dolls,"  which  were  shown  to  me  privately  by 
the  agent  of  the  manufacturers,  as  they  were  not 
yet  in  the  market;  but  no  doubt,  before  this  meets 
your  eyes,  you  will  all  have  become  familiar  with 
them.  I  could  not  and  would  not  believe  in  the 
possibility  of  this  wonderful  invention  being  ap- 
plied to  this  purpose  till  I  had  seen  and  held  in 
my  hands  two  of  these  absurd  little  things,  and 
heard  them  distinctly,  without  the  aid  of  tubes  in 
both  my  ears,  repeat  the  lesson  that  had  been  in- 
stilled, not  into  their  brains,  but  into  their  little 
stomachs.  One  of  them,  upon  being  wound  up, 


356  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

repeated,  in  a  childish  voice  and  accent,  four  lines 
of  "  Mary  had  a  little  lamb."  I  declare,  if  this  or- 
dinary little  French  doll  had  broken  out  in  that 
way,  as  I  held  it  in  my  hand,  without  a  previous 
knowledge  of  the  cause,  I  should  have  dropped  it 
as  something  supernatural  and  uncanny. 

As  I  have  heard  nothing  of  them  since,  nor  met 
with  any  one  who  has  seen  them,  the  great  man 
may  have  suppressed  them  as  entirely  too  frivolous 
to  be  thought  of  in  connection  with  his  wonderful 
invention. 

As  little  time  as  I  had  in  Paris,  I  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  spend  one  afternoon  on  the 
top  of  the  Eiffel  Tower.  While  I  had  only  seen 
photographs  and  other  pictures  of  this  soaring 
iron  skeleton,  I  thought  it  an  ungraceful,  flimsy 
folly,  out  of  harmony  with  everything  in  Art  or 
Nature  about  it.  But  standing  before  it  for  the 
first  time,  I  was  completely  lifted  out  of  myself.  I 
wanted  to  put  my  hand  on  the  top  of  it,  shut  it 
down,  get  on,  and  be  shot  up  into  heaven.  A  veri- 
table four-sided  Jacob's  ladder,  and  as  much  of  a 
dream  as  that  celestial  thoroughfare.  It  seemed 
as  if  I,  too,  ought  to  see  "  angels  ascending  and  de- 
scending." I  was  not  satisfied,  however;  I  must 
go  to  the  top.  "  There  cannot  be  many  so  ambi- 
tious, for  it  certainly  can't  hold  more  than  a  half- 
dozen  at  a  time  up  there ;  it  does  n't  look  bigger 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN.  357 

than  a  good-sized  cart-wheel."  I  was  carried  up 
to  the  first  platform  in  two  or  three  minutes;  here, 
to  my  astonishment,  I  found  myself  obliged  to  join 
on  to  the  tail-end  of  an  interminable  procession  of 
aspiring  ones,  moving,  or  rather  standing,  in  a 
double  line  winding  round  and  round,  in  and  out, 
backward  and  forward  between  two  iron  rails, 
waiting  for  their  turn  at  the  "lift,"  which  after 
two  mortal  hours  I  reached,  and  found  big  enough 
to  carry  from  seventy  to  eighty  persons  at  a  load 
up  to  the  very  top  in  about  five  minutes.  Then, 
at  starting,  began  that  delicious  sensation  —  too 
delicious  for  some  people  to  bear  —  which  can  be 
experienced  only  in  the  basket  of  an  ascending 
balloon.  Looking  out  through  the  open  lattice- 
work, you  see  the  earth  sinking  away  from  you, 
and  the  horizon  mounting  with  you,  till  Paris 
seems  lying  in  a  bowl.  Arriving  at  the  top,  you 
are  surprised  to  find  the  "  cart-wheel "  expanded 
into  a  room  holding  one  hundred  and  fifty  persons, 
besides  a  circle  of  desks  in  the  middle  and  accom- 
modations for  writing  notes,  post-cards,  and  tele- 
grams to  be  posted  and  sent  from  the  "Top  of 
Eiffel  Tower."  I  preferred  to  spend  my  time  look- 
ing down  on  and  over  the  most  lofty  towers  and 
domes  of  Paris.  This  room  is  covered  in  and 
surrounded  with  glass  windows,  closed  on  the 
windward  side  and  open  on  the  others  ;  so  that  by 


358  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

leaning  out,  one  can  look  directly  down  to  the  foot 
of  the  tower.  The  timid  ones,  by  avoiding  the 
open  windows,  deprived  themselves  of  the  most 
exquisite  pleasure  imaginable.  The  entire  Exposi- 
tion grounds,  with  their  lofty  trees  and  domes, 
were  spread  out  like  a  toy  model,  and  the  people 
looked,  literally,  like  ants.  At  this  giddy  height, 
with  a  strong  north  wind  blowing,  I  expected  to 
feel  some  slight  vibration ;  but  no,  it  was  as  firm 
and  motionless  as  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  After 
half  an  hour's  intense  enjoyment  I  got  into  the  lift, 
and  was  lifted  down  to  terra-firma  in  about  ten 
minutes.  By  the  way,  do  not  our  elevators,  as  we 
Americans  call  them,  become  depressors  when  they 
take  us  down  ? 

I  shall  not  forget  the  Eiffel  Tower  and  my 
aerial  visit  until  I  mount  the  one  they  promise 
us  in  America  in  '92,  one  half  as  high  again. 

We  left  Paris  August  15,  and  after  stopping  in 
Milan  one  night,  arrived  safely  in  our  Florence 
home  on  the  17th. 

This  brings  me  to  the  end  of  my  "  threescore 
years  and  ten,"  good  measure.  We  have  now  been 
back  a  month,  and  I  cannot  close  my  narrative 
with  happier  words  —  nor  with  a  more  grateful 
heart  that  I  am  permitted  to  write  them  —  than  to 
say  that  my  dear  wife's  health  is  greatly  improved, 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  359 

and  that  I  return  with  renewed  vigor  and  a  more 
buoyant  heart  to  the  delightful  labors  of  my 
studio. 

Some  of  my  readers  who  have  followed  me  thus 
far,  will  have  made  up  their  minds  that  I  have  led 
a  happy  but  a  frivolous  and  thoughtless  life,  and 
that  I  might  have  succeeded  in  any  one  line  had 
I  followed  it  to  the  exclusion  of  the  rest;  while 
some,  no  doubt,  will  compliment  me  upon  my 
uncommon  versatility.  Of  others,  again,  the  fol- 
lowing epigram,  suggested  by  the  above  or  a  simi- 
lar compliment,  will  perhaps  best  express  the 
private  opinion, — 

He  badly  paints  and  sculps  and  writes ; 
The  fiddle  plays,  and  sings  : 
Life  is  too  short  to  do  all  well, 
Else  he  would  —  do  more  things. 

There  it  is,  I  fear  with  more  truth  than  poetry  ; 
and  the  question  arises,  If  I  had  another  seventy 
years  of  life  before  me,  should  I,  constituted  as  I 
am,  do  these  few  well,  or  strive  to  do  more  things  ? 

All  that  I  have  written  would  seem  to  indicate 
a  life  frittered  away  without  one  serious  thought ; 
which  emboldens  me  to  confess  that  my  inner  life 
has  been  earnest,  conscientious,  and  prayerful. 
Imbued  with  a  strong  faith  in  "  a  divinity  that 
shapes  our  ends,"  my  prayers  have  been  constant, 
but  simple.  I  never  prayed  for  wealth,  I  never 


360  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN. 

prayed  for  fame;  but  fervently  have  I  prayed  to 
be  guided  in  all  my  ways,  to  be  kept  from  tempta- 
tion, to  be  delivered  from  evil,  to  be  blessed  with 
strength,  courage,  and  patience  to  labor  and  wait. 

I  say  this  at  the  risk,  in  this  age  of  scoffing  and 
unbelief,  of  being  called  a  weak  fool.  Weak,  if 
you  will ;  but  in  that  weakness  I  have  found  con- 
stant strength. 

My  most  bitter  tears  have  been  shed  at  the  com- 
pletion of  some  work,  when  I  felt  that  I  had  done 
all  I  could  do,  and  yet  found  it  so  far  from  what  I 
had  hoped  to  make  it,  and  that  it  must  go  out  to 
the  world  with  all  its  imperfections.  Falling  upon 
my  knees  in  agony,  praying  for  comfort  and  faith 
to  believe  the  present  disappointment  to  be  for  my 
ultimate  good,  I  have  arisen  comforted  and  strength- 
ened in  the  hope  that  perhaps  I  had  worked  better 
than  I  knew,  and  that  in  my  next  work  I  might  be 
permitted  to  approach  a  little  nearer  my  ideal.  Im- 
perfect and  unsatisfactory  as  all  my  works  seem  to 
me,  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  what  they  might 
have  been,  and  what  I  might  have  been,  without  that 
firm  belief  that  He  was  ever  at  my  right  hand  as 
long  as  I  was  true  to  myself,  —  to  bear  me  up  when 
I  would  have  fainted,  to  help  me  when  my  strength 
failed  me. 

I  write  this  for  the  encouragement  of  my  young 
brothers  in  art :  not  those  arrogant  and  proud 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  361 

ones  who  believe  in  nothing  but  their  own  strength 
and  will,  jealous  at  even  a  hint  of  any  assistance 
from  a  higher  power,  —  let  them  revel  in  their  be- 
lief ;  but,  in  the  hour  when  their  strength  fails 
them  !  —  But  to  that  sensitive,  retiring  one  who 
shrinks  from  the  sound  of  approbation,  —  not  dar- 
ing, with  his  humble  nature,  to  believe  in  its  sin- 
cerity, -r—  to  him  I  would  say,  Coraggio  !  You  are 
stronger  than  you  imagine ;  be  but  sincere  and 
conscientious  in  your  efforts ;  work  away  with  all 
your  might.  Strive  to  live  a  pure  and  clean  life, 
and  to  improve  the  talents  God  has  given  you,  and 
leave  the  rest  to  him.  He  will  not  let  you  fail. 
Keep  up  a  good  heart ;  cultivate  a  cheerful  dispo- 
sition,—  indulging,  to  that  end,  in  all  the  inno- 
cent mirth  and  humor  you  possess.  Above  all, 
beware  of  the  first  thought  or  feeling  that  you 
are  born  unlucky,  or  that  you  are  neglected  or 
unappreciated.  Do  not  think  of  those  who  seem 
to  be  successful  beyond  their  merit.  Your  time 
will  surely  come,  if  you  deserve  it.  Be  prepared 
for  it  when  it  comes.  Beyond  everything  else, 
cherish  Faith  and  Hope,  the  mother  and  god- 
mother of  Patience. 


362  MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN. 


ENCORE. 

As  I  hardly  dare  hope  for  a  genuine  encore  in 
the  shape  of  a  demand  for  a  second  edition  of 
my  book,  I  have  called  before  the  curtain  the 
principal  character,  the  one  who  first  publicly 
recognized  me. 

I  am  by  no  means  the  first  man  who  has  owed 
his  success  in  life  to  having  once  helped  a  gentle- 
man into  his  saddle,  or  at  least  held  his  horse  for 
him.  My  equestrian  Washington  was  my  first 
public  statue.  I  now  present  the  General  in  piedi, 
to  show  you  that  I  have  not  been  idle  since  I  re- 
turned from  America  ten  months  ago,  a  septuage- 
narian. This  is  the  principal  figure  of  the  monu- 
ment that  Mr.  Edward  F.  Searles  did  me  the  honor 
to  order  from  my  hands.  The  photograph  was 
taken  from  the  clay  model,  which  is  fifteen  feet 
high,  exclusive  of  the  plinth. 

As  I  am  often  asked  how  much  clay  is  required 
to  make  a  statue,  by  consulting  my  bills  from  the 
pottery,  I  find  that  in  this  figure  I  have  used  up- 
ward of  five  tons. 

By  the  way,  my  two  little  grandsons  complain 
—  or  rather  their  mother  complained  on  reading 
my  manuscript  —  that  I  had  not  mentioned  them 


MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND  TEN.  363 

in  my  book ;  so  I  promised  to  introduce  them  in  a 
postscript,  and  if  you  look  carefully  you  will  find 
them  at  the  feet  of  the  Father  of  their  Country. 

The  elder,  bearing  my  name,  was  born  in  Flor- 
ence, Jan.  19,  1881.  Inheriting  his  share  of  the 
musical  talent  of  my  family,  he  will  probably  fall 
heir  to  my  "  Cremona,"  which,  from  all  indications, 
he  will  make  a  better  use  of  than  I  have  done; 
being  not  over-studious,  but  possessing  artistic  in- 
clinations which  are  very  promising.  That  there 
is  a  humorous  vein  in  his  composition  will  be  seen 
by  the  following  incidents. 

When  five  years  old,  his  mother  took  him  one 
day  to  a  prominent  tailoring-establishment  to  buy 
him  a  coat.  In  the  large  window  in  the  front  of 
the  shop  —  to  attract  the  attention  of  passers-by 
—  was  a  semi-circular  row  of  half-a-dozen  images 
about  Tom's  size,  all  painted  to  the  life,  and  dressed 
in  the  latest  fashion.  While  his  mother  was  en- 
gaged with  the  tailor  at  the  other  end  of  the  shop, 
their  attention  was  called  to  the  front  by  bursts  of 
hilarious  laughter.  There  was  Master  Tom,  in  his 
new  coat,  stationed  in  the  middle  of  the  row  of  man- 
ikins, perfectly  motionless,  with  face  as  vacant  of 
expression  as  any  one  of  them ;  the  crowd  round  the 
window  trying  every  device  to  make  him  laugh,  — 
one  holding  a  dog  as  near  to  his  face  as  the  glass 
permitted,  —  but  all  in  vain :  he  vouchsafing  no 


364  MY  THREESCORE  YEARS  AND   TEN. 

other  sign  of  life  but  an  occasional  wink  ;  when 
the  easily  amused  crowd  would  burst  into  roars 
of  laughter. 

Speaking  of  dogs,  I  am  forced  to  make  a  confes- 
sion that  I  fear  will  cause  me  to  be  set  upon  or  sat 
upon  by  the  majority  of  my  readers.  I  have  always 
had  a  strange  aversion  to  dogs.  I  am  never  com- 
fortable in  their  society.  A  dog  has  been  the  one 
thing  that  I  could  persistently  deny  my  young 
namesake.  One  morning  at  the  breakfast-table, 
he  asked  me  why  the  bersaglieri  (sharp-shooters) 
wore  their  caps  tilted  over  their  right  ears,  —  "  it 
must  be  so  uncomfortable."  u  Yes,"  I  answered, 
"  it  must  be  very  uncomfortable  ;  but  they  all  wear 
them  so."  "  I  suppose,"  was  his  sober  rejoinder, 
"  there  are  some  people  who  don't  like  dogs,  and 
yet  they  have  them  all  the  same."  The  quiet 
humor  of  this  mild  reproach  so  far  conquered  my 
antipathy,  that  I  inquired  the  price  of  one  of  the 
biggest  dogs  I  ever  saw. 

The  younger  brother,  Richard  Hamilton,  —  the 
beauty-spot  of  the  family,  —  was  born  in  1886,  in 
Norfolk,  Virginia,  on  "  the  day  we  celebrate,"  —  or 
the  day  we  celebrated  that  year,  as  the  4th  of  July 
came  on  Sunday.  Monday,  the  5th,  amid  the 
roaring  of  cannon,  the  clanging  of  bells  and  pop- 
ping of  fire-crackers,  young  Dick  made  his  appear- 
ance and  declared  his  independence,  which  he  has 


MY   THREESCORE   YEARS   AND   TEN.  365 

tumultuously  maintained  ever  since.  But  that  he 
has,  with  all,  a  domestic  turn  of  mind,  the  following 
pathetic  little  incident  will  demonstrate. 

The  other  day,  hearing  his  mother  lament  that 
she  had  no  longer  a  dear  little  baby,  because  he  had 
grown  so  big,  he  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  out 
of  those  great  black  eyes  of  his,  said  nothing,  but 
went  to  his  father  and  begged  a  ten-centime  cop- 
per. Shortly  after  he  was  heard  wailing  piteously 
in  the  garden  ;  upon  being  pressed  for  the  cause  of 
his  bitter  grief,  he  said  —  his  voice  choked  with 
sobs  —  that  Morino  (the  gardener)  would  not  open 
the  gate  for  him  to  go  out  "  to  buy  a  little  baby  for 
mamma."  Where  he  expected  to  find  one  for  sale, 
was  best  known  to  himself ;  but  the  picture  of  the 
little  four-year-old  standing  at  the  gate  with  the 
two-cent-piece  in  his  hand,  heart-broken  beyond 
consolation  because  he  was  not  permitted  to  wander 
off  alone  in  quest  of  a  little  baby  to  take  the  place 
of  the  one  of  which  he  had  robbed  his  mother  by 
"growing  so  big,"  was,  to  me,  exceedingly  touching. 

Well,  they  are  two  dear  little  boys.  God  bless 
them  both,  and  keep  their  book  of  life  pure  and 
spotless,  till  the  last  leaf  is  turned,  and  the  last 
page  inscribed  "THE  END." 


APPENDIX. 


A  BRIEF  HISTORY  OF  BALL'S  EQUESTRIAN  STATUE 
OF  WASHINGTON. 

Prepared  for  the  Boston  Journal. 

THE  Equestrian  Statue  of  Washington  by  Thomas 
Ball  will  be  unveiled  this  [Saturday]  afternoon  about 
six  o'clock.  The  ceremonies  will  be  brief.  Hon.  A.  H. 
Rice,  President  of  the  Washington  Statue  Committee, 
will  make  a  short  address,  and  his  Honor  Mayor  Shurt- 
leff  s  reply  will  be  even  more  condensed.  It  seems, 
however,  that  the  first  equestrian  statue  erected  in 
this  city  merits  a  fuller  record  than  the  occasion  of  its 
presentation  by  its  originators  to  the  city  will  permit, 
and  we  have  therefore  gleaned  from  authentic  sources  a 
sketch  of  the  history  of  the  statue  from  its  earliest 
completion  to  the  present  day.  The  statue  is  essen- 
tially a  home  production.  It  was  modelled  in  Boston 
and  cast  in  Chicopee,  and  the  liberality  of  our.  own 
citizens  furnished  the  material  aid  which  brought  it  to 
completion. 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  STATUE. 

The  origin  of  this  statue  is  not  involved  in  any 
doubt.  For  many  years  the  suggestion  was  made,  in 


APPENDIX.  367 

the  public  journals  and  on  public  occasions,  that  Boston 
owed  it  to  herself  to  erect  in  some  public  square  a  me- 
morial of  Washington.  Mr.  Everett's  efforts  in  behalf 
of  Mount  Vernon  stimulated  the  veneration  of  the 
people  for  the  name  of  Washington,  and  imparted,  as 
it  were,  to  the  people  a  deeper  reverence  for  the  name 
than  had  manifested  itself  for  many  years.  It  was 
natural  that,  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  times,  Mr. 
Thomas  Ball,  the  sculptor,  should  seek  to  embody  his 
conception  of  the  Father  of  his  Country  in  plaster,  more 
as  a  work  to  gain  experience  than  from  any  hope  of  its 
ever  assuming  the  colossal  proportions  which  it  now 
presents. 

This  effort  was  the  production  of  a  statue  in  plaster 
of  George  Washington,  on  horseback,  which  is  the 
original  of  the  statue  now  on  its  pedestal  in  the  Public 
Garden.  Some  modifications  of  this  original  design 
have  been  made,  but  its  general  appearance  is  the  same. 
This  model  is  now  in  the  possession  of  Hon.  Harvey 
Jewell.  When  Mr.  Ball  admitted  his  friends  to  a  view 
of  his  work,  their  praises  were  encouraging  to  his  heart ; 
but  when  the  artists  of  Boston,  his  associates  and  com- 
petitors, saw  the  production,  their  words  of  congratula- 
tion were  homage  to  his  genius. 

There  was  a  general  desire  manifested,  on  the  part  of 
a  very  large  number  of  citizens,  that  some  work  from 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Ball  should  grace  one  of  our  pub- 
lic squares.  On  the  26th  of  March,  1859,  some  of 
the  sculptor's  friends  met  at  the  studio  of  Mr.  Benj. 
Champney,  in  Tremont  Row,  "to  put  through"  the 
Webster  or  Washington  Statue.  Among  those  present 
were  Messrs.  Thomas  Russell,  Peter  Harvey,  George 


368  APPENDIX. 

H.  Chickering,  F.  H.  Underwood,  T.  Dale,  and  John 
D.  W.  Joy.  It  was  decided  that  the  Washington  Statue 
was  the  more  appropriate  of  the  two  to  produce.  A 
second  meeting  was  held  April  2,  1859,  at  the  same 
place,  when  it  was  resolved  that  the  artists  of  Boston 
should  appoint  a  committee  to  undertake  the  erection 
of  this  work ;  and  the  project  of  a  fair  in  aid  of  this  ob- 
ject was  decided  upon.  This  committee  was  appointed, 
and  consisted  of  the  following  gentlemen,  — 

A.  H.  RICE.  GEO.  H.  CHICKERING. 
THOMAS  RUSSELL.  BEXJ.  CHAMPNEY. 

F.  H.  UNDERWOOD.  HAMMAT  BILLINGS. 

J.  D.  W.  JOY.  C.  G.  LORING,  JR. 

B.  GUILD.  WARREN  SAWYER. 

These  gentlemen  at  once  gave  their  attention  to  the 
subject,  and  found  on  the  part  of  the  public  the  heartiest 
co-operation.  Among  the  first  to  take  an  active  in- 
terest was  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  who  promptly 
consented  to  a  request  from  the  Committee  to  repeat 
an  address  delivered  originally  in  Baltimore  in  aid  of 
the  funds  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association 
of  that  city  for  the  benefit  of  the  statue  fund. 

THE  FIRST  STEP. 

On  the  13th  of  May,  1859,  Mr.  Winthrop  delivered 
his  address  in  the  Music  Hall.  His  subject  was 
' '  Luxury  and  the  Fine  Arts,  or  some  of  their  Moral 
Historical  Relations."  Though  virtually  the  same  ad- 
dress that  Mr.  Winthrop  had  delivered  at  Baltimore, 
many  passages  were  introduced  alluding  to  the  statue. 
The  "  Orpheus  Glee  Club "  opened  the  evening  with 


APPENDIX.  369 

some  fine  musical  selections,  when  Hon.  Alexander  H. 
Rice  introduced  the  orator  of  the  evening.  In  the  course 
of  his  brief  and  appropriate  remarks,  Mr.  Rice  said,  — 

"  The  merit  of  initiating  the  present  enterprise  be- 
longs to  the  artists  of  Boston,  who,  besides  fulfilling 
the  dictates  of  patriotism,  embrace  in  their  purposes  a 
fraternal  tribute  to  the  genius  and  worth  of  a  distin- 
guished member  of  their  own  profession.  And  as  it  may 
be  concluded  that  we  have  fairly  reached  the  period 
when  commemorative  art  in  this  country  shall  be  in 
general  requisition,  it  is  also  proposed  that  this  statue 
shall  exhibit  the  resources  of  our  own  State  in  the  pro- 
duction of  works  of  its  class.  The  artist  is  a  citizen 
of  Boston ;  the  statue  will  be  modelled  here ;  it  will 
also  be  cast  in  bronze  at  some  one  of  the  foundries  of 
Massachusetts,  and  it  is  expected  that  abundant  funds 
for  defraying  its  cost  will  flow  from  the  generosity  of 
our  own  people.  The  general  supervision  of  the  work 
has  been  given  to  a  committee  appointed  by  the  artists 
themselves  ;  but  it  is  the  desire  of  all  concerned  therein 
to  secure,  as  far  as  practicable,  the  co-operation  of  the 
public  in  such  manner  as  may  be  agreeable  to  the  vary- 
ing tastes  of  individuals. 

"  The  Committee,  however,  take  the  present  oppor- 
tunity to  state  that  it  is  proposed  to  hold  a  fair  some  time 
in  November  next,  on  a  scale  of  liberality,  if  possible, 
never  excelled  in  this  city,  the  proceeds  of  which  will 
be  devoted  to  this  object.  And  they  take  pleasure,  also, 
in  saying  that  the  ladies,  always  the  admirers  of  genius 
and  heroism,  and  who  are  only  less  than  omnipotent  in 
their  undertakings,  have  already  engaged  in  this  service 
with  an  enthusiasm  which  ensures  success." 

24 


370  APPENDIX. 


HON.  ROBERT  C.  WINTHROP'S  ADDRESS. 

Mr.  Winthrop  commenced  his  address  by  expressing 
the  hope  that  the  cause  he  was  to  plead  was  already 
safe,  and  he  trusted  that  none  would  have  occasion  to 
repent  of  having  "  set  this  Sail  in  motion." 

''There  is  no  consideration,"  remarked  Mr.  Win- 
throp, "  which  affords  me  more  satisfaction,  in  perform- 
ing this  humble  labor  of  love  for  the  artists  of  Boston, 
than  that  it  is  for  the  advancement  of  their  patriotic 
purpose  of  securing  an  equestrian  statue  of  Washington 
designed  and  moulded  by  a  native  artist,  and  cast  by 
native  mechanics,  and  wholly  to  be  completed,  like  yon- 
der Franklin,  on  our  own  soil.  .  .  .  And  now  the  artists 
of  Boston,  incited  by  the  spirited  and  admirable  design 
of  a  most  meritorious  brother  artist,  have  appealed  to 
us  to  aid  them  in  placing  Massachusetts  by  the  side  of 
Virginia  in  this  precise  mode  of  commemorating  the 
Father  of  his  Country.  I  rejoice  that  our  native  artists 
have  thus  spoken  out,  unitedly  and  earnestly,  for  them- 
selves, and  I  trust  and  believe  that  their  appeal  will 
meet  with  a  cordial  and  generous  response." 

In  closing,  Mr.  Wiuthrop  said  :  — 

"  A  single  fair  in  this  hall  —  like  that  which  finished 
the  monument  on  Bunker  Hill,  or  endowed  the  asj-lum 
for  the  blind,  or  relieved  the  treasury  of  the  Boston 
Provident  Association  at  the  moment  of  its  utmost 
need,  or  more  recently  assured  the  erection  of  a  hos- 
pital for  incurables,  under  the  auspices  of  ladies  like 
those  I  see  before  me  —  will  accomplish  the  entire  work. 
And  it  will  be  accomplished.  The  artists  and  lovers 
of  Art  in  our  city  have  pronounced  the  imperative 


APPENDIX.  371 

decree  that  this  admirable  design  of  Washington  as  he 
mounted  his  charger  under  the  old  Cambridge  elm  on 
the  3d  of  July,  1775,  to  take  command  for  the  first 
time  of  an  American  army  for  the  relief  of  Boston  ;  or 
as  he  stood  on  yonder  heights  and  witnessed  his  first 
great  victory,  while  the  British  fleet  and  the  British 
forces  sailed  out  of  our  harbor  on  the  17th  of  March, 
1776  ;  or  as  he  reined  up  in  yonder  street  to  receive 
the  homage  of  every  true  Boston  heart,  as  first  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  on  the  27th  day  of  October, 
1789,  — that  this  design  shall  no  longer  remain  in  pre- 
carious, perishable  plaster,  but  shall  assume  a  form  as 
durable  as  our  gratitude  or  his  own  fame.  And  to  that 
decree  as  well  as  to  this  address,  I  feel  assured  that  all 
who  hear  me  will  give  a  hearty  and  unanimous  amen !  " 

THE  WASHINGTON  STATUE  FAIR. 

In  accordance  with  the  announcement  made,  a 
fair  was  holden  in  the  Music  Hall  from  Nov.  16  to 
Nov.  24,  1859.  The  artists  contributed  from  their 
studios  many  rare  evidences  of  their  skill,  and  the  con- 
tributions from  merchants  and  others  were  on  the  most 
liberal  scale.  Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  wrote  for 
the  occasion  the  following  poem.  The  blank  186-  may 
be  supplied  with  a  9.  There  were  only  a  few  months' 
grace  to  the  implied  prediction  that  the  statue  would  be 
completed  some  time  in  the  sixties. 


372  APPENDIX. 


BOSTON  COMMON.  — THREE  PICTURES. 

FOB  THE  FAIR  IN  AID  OF  THE  FUND  TO  PROCURE 
BALL'S  STATUE  OF  WASHINGTON. 

1630. 

All  overgrown  with  bush  and  fern, 

And  straggling  clumps  of  tangled  trees, 
With  trunks  that  lean  and  boughs  that  turn,  — 

Bent  eastward  by  the  mastering  breeze,  — 
With  spongy  bogs  that  drip  and  fill 

A  yellow  pond  with  muddy  rain, 
Beneath  the  shaggy  southern  hill 

Lies  wet  and  low  the  Shawmut  plain. 

And  hark !  the  trodden  branches  crack  : 

A  crow  flaps  off  with  startled  scream, 
A  straying  woodchuck  canters  back, 

A  bittern  rises  from  the  stream ; 
Leaps  from  his  lair  a  frightened  deer, 

An  otter  plunges  in  the  pool ;  — 
Here  comes  old  Shawmut's  pioneer, 

The  parson  on  his  brindled  bull ! 


1774. 

The  streets  are  thronged  with  trampling  feet, 
The  northern  hill  is  ridged  with  graves  ; 

But  night  and  morn  the  drum  is  beat 
To  frighten  down  the  "  rebel  knaves." 


APPENDIX.  373 

The  stones  of  King  Street  still  are  red, 

And  3-et  the  bloody  red-coats  come. 
I  hear  their  pacing  sentry's  tread, 

The  click  of  steel,  the  tap  of  drum ; 
And  over  all  the  open  green, 

Where  grazed  of  late  the  harmless  kine,, 
The  cannon's  deepening  ruts  are  seen, 

The  war-horse  stamps,  the  bayonets  shine. 
The  clouds  are  dark  with  crimson  rain 

Above  the  murderous  hireling's  den, 
And  soon  their  whistling  shower  shall  stain 

The  pipe-clayed  belts  of  Gage's  men. 


186-. 

Around  the  green,  in  morning  light 

The  spired  and  palaced  summits  blaze, 
And  sunlike,  from  her  beacon-height 

The  dome-crowned  city  spreads  her  rays : 
They  span  the  waves,  they  belt  the  plains, 

They  skirt  the  roads  with  bands  of  white  ; 
Till  with  a  flash  of  gilded  panes 

Yon  farthest  hillside  bounds  the  sight. 
Peace,  Freedom,  Wealth  !  no  fairer  view, 

Though  with  the  wild  bird's  restless  wings 
We  sailed  beneath  the  noontide's  blue, 

Or  chased  the  moonlight's  endless  rings  ! 
Here  fitly  raised  by  grateful  hands 

His  holiest  memory  to  recall, 
The  hero's,  Patriot's  image  stands  : 

He  led  our  sires  who  won  them  all ! 


374  APPENDIX. 

The  veteran  painter,  Rembrandt  Peale,  repeated  his 
lecture  on  the  Portraits  of  Washington,  for  the  same 
object.  Hon.  Edward  Everett  presented  the  original 
manuscript,  beautifully  bound,  of  his  popular  oration 
on  Washington,  which  he  delivered  so  many  times  in 
different  cities  in  aid  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  dur- 
ing the  Rebellion. 

THE  ORGANIZATION. 

The  pecuniary  result  of  the  fair  was  gratifying  ;  about 
twelve  thousand  dollars  having  been  made.  It  was 
deemed  expedient  at  the  time  to  form  an  association 
and  to  elect  officers.  Articles  of  association  were  pre- 
pared, and  the  legal  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the 
"  Washington  Statue  Committee"  is  recorded  in  the 
Registry  of  Deeds,  March  23,  1860,  and  signed  by 
Benjamin  Champney,  Hammat  Billings,  John  D.  W. 
Jo3T,  Charles  G.  Loring,  Jr.,  Francis  H.  Underwood, 
Warren  Sawyer,  and  Thomas  Russell.  The  first  meet- 
ing of  the  corporation  elected  was  held  March  31,  1860, 
when  Warren  Sawyer  was  elected  chairman,  John 
D.  W.  Joy,  treasurer,  and  Charles  G-.  Loring,  Jr., 
secretary.  At  this  meeting  Messrs.  Alexander  H. 
Rice,  George  H.  Chick ering,  and  Samuel  E.  Guild  were 
elected  members.  Mr.  Sawyer  then  resigned  his  place, 
and  Mr.  Rice  was  elected  chairman,  —  a  post  that  he 
has  continued  to  hold. 

THE  STATUE  COMMENCED. 

The  committee  at  once  appointed  a  sub-committee 
to  contract  with  Mr.  Thomas  Ball  to  model  the  pro- 


APPENDIX.  375 

posed  statue  for  the  sum  of  twelve  thousand  dollars, 
and  the  same  committee  was  authorized  to  lease  a 
piece  of  land  and  erect  a  building  in  which  to  set  up 
the  model.  Messrs.  Chickering  &  Sons,  with  their 
accustomed  liberality,  tendered  to  the  Committee  the 
use  of  a  piece  of  land  in  the  rear  of  their  pianoforte 
manufactory,  and  in  a  very  short  time  a  fine  studio 
was  erected.  With  what  zeal  the  artist  commenced 
his  work  we  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  knowing.  A  day- 
laborer  working  for  his  daily  bread  never  toiled  harder 
than  the  sculptor.  He  was  enthusiastic  and  zealous. 
He  studied  the  anatomy  of  the  horse  till  his  brain  must 
have  had  imprinted  upon  it  the  figure  of  a  faultless 
steed.  He  adopted  whatever  was  good  in  many  noble 
animals  placed  at  his  disposal  as  models  ;  and  when  his 
own  efforts  failed  to  meet  the  demands  of  his  own 
judgment,  he  destroyed  the  work  of  days  and  began 
again. 

PROGRESS  OF  THE  WORK. 

While  Mr.  Ball,  encouraged  by  the  liberality  of 
patriotic  citizens,  was  giving  form  to  this  memorial 
of  a  grateful  people,  the  civil  war  at  the  South  was 
raging.  The  aspect  of  affairs  was  not  such  as  to  war- 
rant any  immediate  hope  that  the  casting  of  the  statue 
would  be  possible  for  even  years  to  come,  but  the  ardor 
of  the  sculptor  knew  no  abatement.  Mr.  Charles  G. 
Loring,  Jr.,  being  in  the  army  with  Burnside's  Ex- 
pedition, resigned  the  office  of  secretary  in  1862,  and 
Mr.  F.  H.  Underwood  was  elected  in  his  place.  In 
1863  the  model  was  so  far  completed  that  it  was  pro- 
posed to  send  it  to  Chicopee  to  be  cast ;  but  the  Ames 


376  APPENDIX. 

Manufacturing  Company  at  that  time  were  employing 
all  the  resources  of  their  foundries  in  casting  guns. 
The  funds  of  the  Association  were  exhausted,  and  it 
was  considered  neither  wise  nor  patriotic  to  ask  con- 
tributions while  the  existence  of  the  nation  was  in 
peril.  Nothing,  therefore,  was  done  toward  canying 
the  project  out ;  but  the  hand  of  the  artist  found  em- 
ployment in  perfecting  his  work.  It  was  during  the 
year  1863  that  Mr.  Samuel  E.  Guild  died,  and  Mr. 
Benjamin  S.  Rotch  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Com- 
mittee in  his  place. 

In  1864  the  model  was  entirely  completed,  and  ex- 
hibited during  the  month  of  April  to  hundreds  of  our 
citizens.  It  was  admired,  though  the  capacity  of  the 
studio  did  not  admit  of  sufficient  distance  to  permit  the 
spectator  to  view  it  under  the  most  advantageous  cir- 
cumstances. The  point  of  view  should  be  about  one 
hundred  and  twenty  feet  from  the  statue.  The  model 
was  taken  down  and  stored,  and  the  studio  was  sold. 
It  was  decided  by  the  Committee  that  when  the  statue 
was  finished  in  bronze,  it  should  be  erected  on  the 
Public  Garden ;  and  the  present  site  was  then  selected, 
and  subsequently  appropriated  by  a  vote  of  the  City 
Council.  In  1865  Mr.  Ball  returned  to  Europe,  and 
in  1866  John  A.  Andrew  was  elected  a  member  of  the 
Committee  to  fill  a  vacancy  caused  by  the  resignation 
of  Mr.  Billings.  In  1867  Mr.  George  W.  Wales  was 
elected  a  member  of  the  Committee.  Mr.  Hammat 
Billings  was  commissioned  to  make  a  design  for  the 
pedestal. 


APPENDIX.  377 

TIMELY  ASSISTANCE. 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1868,  the  Everett  Statue  Com- 
mittee ascertained  that  after  paying  the  expense  of  a 
statue  by  Story,  a  bust  by  Ball,  and  a  painting  by 
Wight,  of  their  distinguished  fellow-citizen,  they  had 
a  handsome  surplus.  It  was  proposed  that  a  portion 
of  this  sum  might  appropriately  be  given  to  the  Wash- 
ington Statue  Committee.  On  the  llth  of  April,  1868, 
Hon.  A.  H.  Rice  by  request  appeared  before  the  sub- 
committee of  the  Everett  Statue  Committee,  having 
the  disposal  of  the  funds  under  consideration.  Mr. 
Rice  eloquently  set  forth  the  desirability  of  completing 
the  statue  ;  and  without  making  any  claims  to  the  funds, 
he  made  so  strong  an  impression  on  the  Committee  that 
they  reported  to  the  General  Committee  a  proposition 
to  contribute  five  thousand  dollars  in  aid  of  Ball's 
equestrian  statue  of  Washington.  The  General  Com- 
mittee adopted  the  order  unanimously  on  the  16th  of 
April,  1868.  With  this  accession  to  their  funds,  and 
the  city  having  carried  out  the  action  of  a  previous 
government  authorizing  a  gift  of  ten  thousand  dollars 
in  aid  of  the  enterprise  by  paying  the  amount,  the 
model  was  taken  from  its  storehouse  and  sent  to  the 
Ames  Manufacturing  Company  at  Chicopee. 

COMPLETION  OF  THE  STATUE. 

It  was  anticipated  that  the  casting  of  the  statue 
would  be  completed  forthwith,  and  that  it  would  be 
ready  for  dedication  in  July,  1868.  On  the  3d  of 
June  Mr.  Ball,  after  three  years'  absence  in  Europe, 
returned  with  the  hope  and  expectation  that  he  should 
witness  the  inauguration  of  his  great  work.  He  was 


378  APPENDIX. 

doomed,  however,  to  disappointment.  It  was  pro- 
posed to  have  it  ready  for  the  22d  of  February,  1869  ; 
but  his  time  was  too  valuable  to  wait.  His  visit  home, 
however,  was  not  without  compensation,  for  he  was 
awarded  the  statue  of  John  A.  Andrew,  and  left,  Oct. 
15,  1868,  for  Italy.  The  Washington  statue  was  not 
completed  till  a  few  months  since,  and  was  but  recently 
brought  to  this  city  and  erected,  under  the  supervision 
of  Silas  Mossman,  Esq.,  of  the  Ames  Manufacturing 
Company,  who  has  taken  great  interest  in  the  work. 
The  extreme  length  of  the  group  is  16  feet ;  height,  16 
feet,  —  height  of  Washington,  12  feet;  height  of  plinth, 
13£  inches.  The  pedestal,  which  is  of  Quincy  granite, 
was  designed  by  Hammat  Billings  ;  is  15  feet  in  length, 
7J-  feet  in  width,  and  18  feet  in  height  The  weight  of 
the  statue  is  1,000  pounds.  The  foundation  is  built 
on  piles. 

COST  OF  THE  WOEK. 

The  finances  of  the  Association  which  has  been  in- 
strumental in  giving  to  this  city  this  new  and  beautiful 
work,  have  been  most  carefully  and  skilfully  managed 
by  John  D.  W.  Joy,  Esq.,  who  was  among  the  earliest 
to  suggest  the  idea  of  erecting  this  statue,  and  has  held 
from  the  start  the  laboring  oar.  The  total  cost  of  this 
work  has  been  $42,400,  which  amount  has  been  raised 
as  follows :  — 

Net  proceeds  of  Fair $10,984.03 

Donations  from  friends 12,875.00 

Contribution  of  the  Everett  Statue  Committee  .  5,000.00 
Appropriation  by  the  City  ........  10,000.00 

Accrued  interest       3,583.25 

$42,442.28 


APPENDIX.  379 


THE  DEDICATION. 

The  following  official  announcement  completes  this 
brief  outline  of  the  history  of  a  statue  which  we  believe 
will  be  regarded  with  pride  by  all  our  citizens  :  — 

BOSTON,  Jan.  29,  1869. 

The  Washington  Statue  Committee  take  pleasure  in  an- 
nouncing that  if  the  weather  is  fair,  the  statue  in  the  Public 
Garden  will  be  unveiled  on  Saturday,  July  3,  at  half-past 
five  o'clock  P.  M.  At  the  same  time  it  is  expected  that  the 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  will  deliver  the  statue  into  the 
custody  of  the  city. 

Should  the  weather  be  stormy,  the  ceremony  will  be  post- 
poned to  Monday,  July  5,  at  half -past  five  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon.  The  members  of  the  City  Government,  the 
artists,  the  subscribers  to  the  fund,  the  committee  of  the 
Everett  statue,  and  the  lady  patronesses  of  the  fair  held  in 
1859  for  the  benefit  of  the  statue  are  respectfully  invited 
to  be  present. 

ALEXANDER  H.  RICE.  F.  H.  UNDERWOOD. 

THOMAS  RUSSELL.  WARREN  SAWYER. 

JOHN  D.  W.  JOY.  GEORGE  H.  CHICKERING. 

CHARLES  G.  LORING,  JR.  BENJAMIN  S.  ROTCH. 

BENJAMIN  CHAMPNEY.  GEORGE  W.  WALES. 


THE  END. 


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